


Unyielding chains of love

by olympia_m



Series: You sleep, I am awake and tormented [1]
Category: Hikaru no Go, 闇の末裔 | Yami No Matsuei | Descendants of Darkness
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blood Magic, Homelessness, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magic, Non-Consensual Touching, Rape, Self-Indulgent, Stress, Temporary Amnesia, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, psychosomatic discorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 21:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18060683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olympia_m/pseuds/olympia_m
Summary: One day Oriya will learn not to bet with Muraki.or, Muraki makes Oriya forget his name - but not his nature - and they both learn from the experience.





	1. The bet

**Author's Note:**

> I love Oriya and his psychosomatic disorders....  and torturing him.... but what else is new? 
> 
> Also, I was listening non-stop to 'il Fasolo?' by Poeme Harmonique while writing this. Oriya's 'song' is 'Son Ruinato, apassionato' until the very last scene, where it changes to 'Jacara: Aria alla napolitana'. Muraki's 'song' is the 'Lamento di Madama Lucia'. The CD and some of the lyrics are refered to in the fic. The title also comes from it, from 'Chi non sa come Amor'.

Muraki bit back a snort when he saw Oriya at the top of the stairs. “You can’t wear that,” he told him. 

Oriya looked down at himself. “What’s wrong with it? It’s perfectly formal.”

Muraki nodded. In black kimono, black haori, grey striped hakama, Oriya was the embodiment of the formal Japanese gentleman. “Yes, but no one wears traditional clothes at the opera. No one under seventy, at least.”

“I don’t care.” Oriya cast a look at Muraki’s own costume. “I couldn’t wear… that. That bow tie.” He shuddered. “Too constricting.”

Muraki glanced at his reflection at the mirror by the entrance. He looked quite dashing in his new, especially made tuxedo. “Nonsense,” he smirked. “We have plenty of time. You should change. You can borrow something of mine, maybe one of my suits, if you don’t want to wear a tux.” He studied Oriya. “You’d look good in one.”

“No, thank you,” Oriya smiled politely as he walked down. “I’d look uncomfortable in one. Please, Muraki, can’t we just go? You have to tell me all about the characters and the plot before the performance, after all.”

Muraki grinned. “True. You know, if you ever did your homework, I wouldn’t have to do that.”

“But I prefer the way you explain things, Sensei.” Oriya’s smile was genuine. 

Muraki snorted. “You like being lazy, you mean.”

“That too,” Oriya laughed. “So,” he smiled, fixing Muraki’s bowtie for a second, “what’s tonight’s performance?”

“Turandot, by Puccini.” Sakaki opened the door for them. “Thank you, Sakaki. Don’t wait up for us, please.”

“As you wish, Sir. Have a nice evening, Mibu-sama.”

Oriya smiled again. “Thank you, Sakaki-san. Rest well.” He followed Muraki out. “So, what’s Turandot about?”

“At least you remember who Puccini is,” Muraki grinned as he unlocked his car. 

“Yes. Well?” Oriya settled in the passenger seat, tying his seatbelt like a responsible adult. 

Muraki tied it too, only because he didn’t want to pay a fine if he got pulled over by any chance. “She’s a beautiful princess who refuses to marry. She makes her suitors answer her three riddles, and who ever answers wrong, has to die. The hero falls in love with her, solves her riddles, and finally wins her heart.”

“Hm… very…. Romantic.”

Muraki grinned slowly. “At the end of the second act, she still doesn’t love him and asks him if he will take her by force. So, at some point in third act, he kisses her, and even though she initially refuses the kiss, and is unwilling to be married to him, she slowly gets into it, and by the end, she agrees to the marriage.”

Oriya smirked. “How… unhealthy.”

“Why? Because he forces himself on her until she realizes she wants him?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes a little force is necessary when your beloved is unwilling,” Muraki smiled. “A little force, a little persuasion, a little…”

“Still unhealthy,” Oriya cut him off. 

“She really wanted it, you know. All she needed was a small push.”

Oriya shook his head. “You know we won’t agree on that. If someone refuses, someone should be left alone.”

“If you were the hero, you would have walked out on the second act and lived a lonely, miserable life, soothed only by your belief that you did what was morally right.”

“While you would have forced yourself on her.”

“Of course,” Muraki smirked. “And lived happily ever after.”

Oriya closed his eyes for a moment. “Perhaps you will call me a hypocrite, considering my job, but, I personally find that a willing lover is much better than an unwilling one.” When he opened them again, he smiled. “A new lover is like an unopened treasure box. Rather than force the lock, it’s so much better to have it unlocked with a key.”

Muraki snorted. “Where is the fun of conquest, then?”

“Surrender freely given is more enjoyable than forced submission.”

“And that is why I have all the fun, while you are still single.” Muraki let out another snort. “Oh, wait, I forgot, you’re single because you’re gay.”

Oriya glared at him. “Just because we occasionally sleep together, does not mean I’m gay, Muraki.”

Interesting choice of words. Muraki would have used ‘fuck’ to describe what they did, but he had expected Oriya to consider it ‘love-making’. “When was the last time you had a girlfriend, though?”

“The same time as the last time I had a boyfriend,” Oriya replied testily.

“Which was?”

Oriya looked away. Discussion over, apparently. “Does Turandot even want him before he forces himself on her?” he asked a moment later. 

Muraki shrugged.If Oriya didn’t want to discuss his love life, then why should they discuss Turandot’s? He reached for his phone and unlocked it. “Look it up,” he said as he handed it to Oriya. “I’m certain the libretto is online somewhere.”

Oriya nodded, looking down and typing immediately. 

Muraki let out a small sigh. What was happening to them? They had been out of sync lately.

“I should learn Italian,” Oriya sighed. “It sounds like such a lyrical language.”

“You can try.”

“Ah, but I don’t have the time.” Oriya handed him back the phone. “Besides, if I had time, that’s not what I would do.”

“Really?” Muraki raised an eyebrow. “What would you do, if you had the time?”

“I’d go build a hut in a mountain. One with plenty of space for a garden.” Oriya leaned back and closed his eyes. His tiny smile widened. “One where I could grow flowers. A lot of flowers that would bloom all year round and whose scents wouldn’t let me sleep in the summer.” He snorted. “As if.”

Muraki grinned. “You’d make a lousy gardener.”

“Why not? I have the patience for it.”

“It takes more than patience. Besides,” Muraki smirked, “at heart you’re still an academic.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s an academic’s fantasy. Leaving every behind and working with his or her hands. Ukyou has the same idea every other year.”

Oriya grinned. “Maybe we could go off together and start a co-operative. I would grow vegetables and she could tend to goats, and we could sell our produce to the local farmers’ market.”

Muraki started laughing and almost missed the sign turning red. He halted the car at the last moment. “You two deserve each other. As for me? I wouldn’t bail you out when your co-op failed.”

“How cruel,” Oriya laughed. “Our co-op wouldn’t fail. I’m good with accounts. I’d make it work.” 

“I bet,” Muraki teased.

“It’s true,” Oriya protested. “Although, frankly, I’d rather have a hut in the mountain and nothing else than my house.”

“Not even a co-op with Ukyou and goats?”

“Not even that.” Oriya sighed. “It’s all an illusion, after all. Love, wealth, power. Who needs them?”

“I do.” Muraki smiled at him. “And you don’t?”

“No.”

“Because you have it all.”

“No, because I know none of it matters in the end. We come with nothing in this world and we leave with nothing. To cling to anything while in this world is a trap, an illusion to make us forget that nothing created is permanent.”

Muraki rolled his eyes up for a second. “You know I will not answer you when you are in that mood.”

“What mood?”

“Of the disillusioned disciple.”

Oriya snorted. “I’m neither. I’m just acknowledging the state of being.”

“Your state of being.”

Oriya smiled a little. 

“I bet that if you had nothing, as you so wish, you wouldn’t be able to cope and you’d speak differently. You speak from a position of privilege, and it’s easy to pretend to be disinterested in all the things that make life easy and pleasurable.”

“As if you don’t speak from a position of privilege.”

Muraki smirked. “I do not lie to myself. I am rich, and I am taking advantage of my prestigious position every day. This is not an illusion, but how things are. Things and people are interchangeable for me, and there for me to use and play with.” He winked at Oriya. “I didn’t come here with nothing; I was born the heir to the Muraki fortune. I will not leave here with nothing. I will leave with memories of a life well-lived.”

Oriya smirked. 

“You disagree,” Muraki grinned. “Come on, then, take a bet with me. You wouldn’t last a week if you had to live according to your principles of poverty and moral righteousness.”

“I would.”

“Want to bet?”

“Fine, I do. One week, Muraki, no more, though. I have other obligations too.”

“Always so dutiful,” Muraki smiled. “Fine, a week.” His smile grew.

Oriya smiled back. “What will you give me when I win?”

“‘When,’ Oriya?” he smirked. 

“When, Muraki.”

“Hm… What do you want?”

“A week of your time. A whole week. I’ll decide how you’ll spend it.” Oriya’s eyes sparkled. 

“Fine.” Muraki laughed. “And what will you give me, when I win, Oriya?”

“The satisfaction that you were right?” Oriya winked at him.

Muraki started laughing again. Oh, this would be good. 

&*&*

Just as he had predicted, Oriya was the only man under seventy in a formal kimono at the opera. They made a striking pair, though. Muraki couldn’t wait for Oriya’s stupid week of poverty and whatever to be over, so he could fuck him senseless. “Did you like the opera?”

“Yes, it was a very good performance. I especially liked the one who played Liu.”

Muraki snorted. Of course he would; Oriya was a sucker for tragic love stories. “I liked Kalaf.”

“Of course; you like winners.”

Muraki touched Oriya’s wrist for a second. “I do.” He leaned close. “Dearest, if you would like, I would…” He smiled gently. “Let’s go home.”

Oriya made a small, happy sound and his eyes shone. 

Muraki looked at him. Yes, their occasional trysts made Oriya look like someone had given him the moon. Yes, they were just ‘sleeping together’. His smile widened. No, he fucked someone who loved him. Someone who was his, all his, by choice. 

He could wait only until they were in the car. The moment the doors closed, he leaned towards Oriya and kissed him. Oriya sounded surprised for a second, but then his mouth opened sweetly for him. Oriya hadn’t smoked all evening and he tasted faintly of the white wine he’d had at the intermission, fresh and slightly fruity. Muraki moaned, full of satisfaction. He loved the taste of this man.

Oriya pushed him slightly. “They can see us,” he whispered, sounding like he didn’t care.

“Fuck them,” he replied before going for another kiss. A kiss Oriya didn’t deny him. Oriya kissed him back hungrily, almost desperately, sweet but not submissive. For a moment he was tempted to forget everything, to keep Oriya to himself all week, lock themselves in his room, and rely on Sakaki’s discreet food delivery. How lovely would that be? 

But a bet was a bet, and he loved winning. 

Cradling Oriya’s head, he whispered the spell against his lips. He saw his breath shimmer for a second before dissolving in Oriya’s mouth, and his excitement grew. He’d never tried to use a spell on him, would it work? He leaned for another kiss, on Oriya’s neck, writing the same spell with his tongue on the soft skin. 

Oriya sighed, making Muraki look up. His eyelashes were fluttering close, and Oriya was struggling to keep them open. “Dearest?”

“I’m suddenly tired,” Oriya managed to whisper before his eyes closed. 

Muraki smiled, caressing Oriya’s face with his fingertips. “You’ll be fine,” he reassured him, uncertain if Oriya could hear him or not. “You’ve had a long day and now you just need to sleep a little. Just sleep.” Oriya relaxed against the seat. Muraki kissed him again. Lax and unresponsive, kissing him was no different than kissing a doll. Muraki pulled away, not knowing why he felt uneasy. A kiss was a kiss. 

He looked up. There were still other cars in the parking lot, and some people, more curious than others, glanced at his car’s direction. Should he drive to a more secluded space and finish the spell there? Or continue seeming inappropriate, enjoying his lover behind tinted windows? The latter would draw less attention, he finally decided. 

He took out a scalpel and disinfectant wipes from the compartment in front of Oriya’s seat, cleaned the blade and his arm, and cut himself lightly. Blood welled up instantly, and Muraki watched it fascinated for a couple of seconds. Blood; what would they be without it? That was their essence, everything else just a vehicle for it. 

He put the scalpel down and, taking some of his blood with his fingertips, started writing another spell on Oriya’s face. Dark red looked good on him, even like this. For a moment he was tempted again; forget everything, cancel the spell, make a mask of blood trails on Oriya’s pale skin, accentuate his features with his marks, and then clean him up with kisses. It would be beautiful, and satisfying, and when Oriya woke up, he’d have no idea that Muraki had wondered how he would look if Muraki had made a permanent mess of his pretty face. 

No. He’d never mess up that pretty face permanently. That would be such a waste. Besides, Oriya would look good even if Muraki ruined his beauty. He’d make scars work for him. 

He forced himself to go back to what he had started doing, instead of thinking how Oriya might look with his scars. A bet was a bet, and he loved winning even more than he loved … No, he didn’t love Oriya. He was fond of him. 

He finished the spell, and kissed him one more time to seal it. How beautiful he was with all of Muraki’s marks on him. He then cleaned the dried blood from him. Gently, so gently. No, such skin could not be marked with anything more permanent than that; it would be a disgrace, an insult. Even an accidental bruise would be too much. “Three rules, my dear,” Muraki whispered in his ear. “No going to the police, no going to a hospital, and in exactly a week, from now, at,” he checked his watch, “at midnight, you will meet me at the entrance of the Park Hyatt.”

Done, he kissed Oriya’s cheek. He was about to open the door, when he realized that Oriya’s week of poverty would never happen if he let him go like that. His clothes would be worth more than a few thousand yen even if he sold them at a quarter of their original price in any second-hand store. He slid his finger between the underkimono and Oriya’s collarbone and couldn’t tell what was softer to the touch, the silk or his skin. No, a small change of plans was in order. 

&*&* 

Carrying an unconscious Oriya and the clothes he’d bought for him to the hotel room was harder than he thought it would be. Unlike his Shinigami, Oriya was flesh and bones and he was heavy when his body was limp. Still, it was worth a little discomfort, and then he’d have a whole week to think of what he’d ask of Oriya when he lost their bet. 

He heaved a huge sigh of relief once he deposited Oriya on the bed. He was heavy. But so gorgeous. Muraki undressed him slowly, savoring the experience. He was usually watching as Oriya slid out of his old-fashioned clothes, but now that he touched them himself, he had to admit that they gave him such a sensual feeling. Silk slid between his fingertips, still warm from Oriya’s skin. It rustled as he manipulated it away from Oriya’s body, and it felt heavy and precious as it fell on the floor. This was better than unwrapping a gift, and he had to do it again. 

It was better than foreplay too, he realized once he had Oriya completely naked. One look at Oriya’s strong, athletic body was enough to make Muraki recognize that his cock had become hard, and was even leaking at the tip. Muraki took it out and started caressing himself. Like a former addict, he thought he was free of desire for this man for the longest time, and then, suddenly, the need hit him when he least expected it and it was powerful. 

Muraki’s throat was dry as he sat next to Oriya and traced the linea alba first and then the iliac crest. What the fuck was he doing? Oriya didn’t need any foreplay, or sweet touches, still in a magically-induced sleep. He reached for the pillows, placed them under Oriya’s back, spread his legs open, settled between them, took out a small packet of lube, rubbed it on his cock stroking himself once more and pushed inside Oriya. Oriya’s muscles were relaxed, making penetration easier than usual, but it was still tight and he had to press hard to take him. What did this man do to him? 

Muraki placed Oriya’s ankles on his shoulders so he could take him deeper and then leaned down, wanting nothing but to kiss him and bite him. He loved using this pale, soft skin as his canvas. Accidental bruises were an insult to Oriya’s beauty, but not when he deliberately kissed his collarbone and left bite marks across it. This was their little secret, and Oriya reveled in it as much as Muraki. 

What did this man do to him? Most of the time they were just friends and they were fine with that, and yet… when the desire struck, it took him and burned him and left nothing but sweet pain in its aftermath. Muraki couldn’t stop his hips from snapping against yielding flesh, his hands from gripping soft skin, his mouth from biting. His body had turned alien to him, succumbing to this insane, crazy need for Oriya’s body, a need that had to be satisfied or else he’d burn from it. His body already felt hotter, his heart beat like a trapped bird in his chest, there was a roaring noise behind his temples, and his thrusts kept accelerating. His body was breaking apart and dissolving, yet the fire inside him couldn’t be quenched. He needed more, he wanted more, he didn’t know what he wanted anymore, except maybe to become one with Oriya. Fused to him, his need would stop, he knew it.

Fused to Oriya, he shuddered, his body still insisting on a last remnant of independence before white hot fire burned through him, and burned him completely. 

Muraki came to his senses with his arms wrapped around Oriya and his cock still deep inside him. He slowly untangled himself. God, he hadn’t had an orgasm that intense since… the last time he’d fucked Oriya. What did this man do to him? he wondered again as he caressed Oriya’s cheek. He looked so peaceful, and yet there were love bites all over his chest and… Muraki slid down and pushed his finger inside Oriya’s hole, scooping out the come. His tongue followed his finger. Muraki tasted himself as he smelled Oriya’s still sweat, a combination of musky spices and soap. Someone should make a perfume of that. 

He smiled as he still ate Oriya out. Yes, that was a thought for another day. First he needed to clean Oriya and then… wait a week and win the bet.


	2. Monday

His head felt incredibly heavy. Lifting it even for more than a centimeter was so difficult. He let it drop. His head hurt like someone had hit it repeatedly with a hammer from the inside. He opened his eyes, and a wave of dizziness took over him. He closed them, and focused on his breathing, cataloguing what he felt and what he knew. 

He felt dizzy, and tired. He couldn’t lift his head or open his eyes without making himself nauseated. His chest hurt, and his ass felt tender. Pushing the last thought aside, he tried not to laugh. He felt like shit. 

Behind his closed eyelids lights danced. Some were far away and some were close. Some were even coming towards him. He lifted a tired hand and tried to dispel them, but they insisted. Up close, they looked like little bags of sweets, with tiny arms and legs, huge, wide eyes, and small slits instead of mouths. He covered his eyes with his hands, as if that would make him stop seeing them. 

“Leave me alone,” he whispered to them.

They didn’t. The most brazen of them wrapped themselves in his hair and his fingers and his tee-shirt. He opened his eyes, fighting back the nausea. They were all over him, small, tiny creatures that weighted nothing and clung to him fiercely, staring at him and whispering things he couldn’t understand. He brushed them off his clothes, but they just danced away from him, and then perched on a different part of him. 

He stood up, and the world tilted around him. Grasping the wall next to him he waited until the ground was not shaking. Then he tried brushing the little pests away again. 

A light suddenly fell on his face. He froze. 

“Hey, you. Are you okay?” 

He looked towards the man speaking to him. His voice was kind, but he was dressed in a policeman’s uniform. Police was bad, he knew that. He shouldn’t be near them. 

“I’m fine, thank you for your concern,” he said with all the control he could muster.

The policeman stopped his bike, and studied him. “Can I see your ID?”

“Yes.” Where did he have his ID? He reached for a pocket that wasn’t there. “Just a moment,” he whispered, looking around him. There was a small street opening right behind him.   
The policeman was on a bike so he could probably overtake him but if he managed to slip inside the street and then find either another hiding place or… “Just a moment,” he said again, pushed the bike down with a strength he didn’t imagine he had, and ran. 

“Wait, wait,” the policeman shouted behind him. 

He ran into the side street, passed several fairly nice houses, and found himself at the top of a flight of steps leading down. That would make it more difficult for the policeman to follow him on his bike, so down it was. The policeman had the advantage of knowing where he was and the streets, though. He needed to find a place to hide, and he needed to find it soon. 

A second after ending at the bottom of the stairs he spotted a car under a cover in a ‘garage’ formed by the balcony of a house. This might be a good place for a few minutes. He slid in the tight space between the car and the wall, trying not to touch the car and set off any alarms. Gods, he felt like throwing up. 

The tiny critters still clinging on him looked at him curiously. 

He sighed. Wherever this was, it was in an upper middle-class residential area. Where could he hide there, between the gardens and the open spaces of the single houses? He heard the bike pass, and waited. 

More time to take stock of what he knew. His clothes were not his; he was certain of that. He was Japanese, and he was in Japan. His body was in good shape, and his head did not feel that heavy anymore. 

If only he knew where he was, and who he was, and how to get where he was supposed to be, he would be happy. Oh, and what were the critters hanging on to him. And why did he see all those lights that were clearly not lights. 

He bit back a sigh. Just because he didn’t want to think about it did not mean that he didn’t know what these lights or creatures were. He was suffering from hallucinations, that was what they were. And his bottom still felt tender, as if he’d had sex. He didn’t remember that either. 

All his symptoms, from the nausea to the aches he felt, added up to one thing: he’d been attacked, hit on the head, sexually assaulted, and then left on the side of a street. Perhaps his attacker had thought he’d killed him. Perhaps his attacker had meant for someone to find him and take him to a hospital. He had no idea, but hospitals were like the police. Some instinct told him it would be a bad idea to go there. Well, he’d figure things out sooner or later, and when he did, he could worry about them. This was not the time to panic, or think about who had assaulted him and how. 

Sometime later he heard the bike pass again. He held his breath, listening if the policeman would stop and search all the gardens, but he was in luck. The bike just passed by.   
Just in case, he waited for a few more minutes and then he carefully moved away from his temporary shelter. He didn’t bother trying to get rid of the critters that he could see. When he got over the concussion they would disappear. 

Now, all he had to do was find where he was. He moved towards the opposite direction from where the policeman had ridden. At some point, he’d find something that would tell him where he was, he was certain of it. And then he’d find the nearest public library. That was the plan, and he was sticking with it. He didn’t have time to panic, or give in to the cold fear inside him. No, he had to move on. 

&*&*

There was a scholar who had run out of money on his return trip from the country examination. As he was too shy to beg, he went to the temple and prayed. Which was a lovely story, and he had no idea why he knew it, but it didn’t help him get enough money for a ticket from the station he was to the centre of Yokohama, where the public library had to be. Since there was no temple, he’d have to push aside his embarrassment and shyness and beg. If he could find someone kind enough to listen to him at five in the morning, and not some half-sleeping commuter who’d ignore him. 

“Excuse me,” he asked the first person he saw, a business man dressed in an expensive suit and carrying a briefcase. 

The man ignored him as he hurried into the station. 

“Excuse me,” he asked the second person he saw, this time someone not so well-dressed, but dragging a suitcase behind him. 

He ignored him too. Well, it was early still. 

Forty-five minutes later, he started getting worried. There were only two trains running between the station and Yokohama that early in the morning, and it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to get help from the people getting the second one either. He was so screwed. He would never get anyone to listen to him during rush hour. Beggars couldn’t be shy, and desperate times called for desperate measures. He went to the ticket office. “Excuse me.”

“Yes.”

“Can you please give me enough money to buy a ticket to Yokohama centre?”

One of the two cashiers stared at him incredulously. The other snorted.

“Please. Someone stole my wallet and I just want to go home, but…”

“Why don’t you call your family?” The man, still staring at him as if he had two heads, asked him. 

“I have no one.” Matter-of-fact, tiny sigh. Life wasn’t fair, but it was what it was.

“You should go to the police box,” the man continued. “They can help you.”

“And you should report the theft of your wallet,” the other man added. 

“But, I didn’t have much in the first place. It would be a waste of police resources to report the theft of a thousand yen.” 

“For…” the first man sighed. He took out a thousand-yen note and then gave him a ticket. “Go home.”

He smiled, and bowed deeply. “Thank you, thank you.”

“You are such a softie, Toshiro-kun,” the other man snorted. 

“Just doing whatever is quicker to get rid of him.”

He bowed again and hurried towards the platform. He had plenty of time before the library opened, but no idea where the library was. He’d have to stop at every station once he   
reached Yokohama and check the maps of the area, until he found it. That would take some time. And when he found the library, then he’d think of what he needed to search. By the time it opened, he’d be prepared. He’d have a proper plan of action. He’d follow it. 

&*&*

His first stop was Yokohama central station. He really wanted some tea, but even though it cost as much as water, it wouldn’t last as long, so he did what was logical. He went around the station, compared the price of each bottled water from every kiosk, automatic vending machines, and kombini in the area, before buying the cheapest one he could find and asking the vendor where the library was. He preferred being logical to … 

He still couldn’t believe he’d found the nerve to throw down a policeman’s bike and then run away from him like some scared animal. What was he? Who was he? And what had happened to him? How had he ended up in the middle of a quaint residential suburb with….

He really couldn’t delay that any longer, could he? He had to check himself, even if he was scared of what he’d find. He found the closest toilet and locked himself in the first available stall. 

His tee-shirt was the first to go. He took it off and looked down on himself. The cold dread that had settled at the pit of his stomach stirred again and turned into a mass of writhing tendrils that threatened to wrap … He shook his head. Who was he to use such stupid metaphors about feeling frozen and scared? Because he was scared, and he had been right to be scared. His upper chest looked like someone had tried to eat him alive. There were bite marks everywhere, unevenly spaced, like someone had started biting him and then had so much fun with it, that he couldn’t stop. It had to be a ‘he’; the imprints were pretty large, so whoever bit him had to have had a large mouth, therefore, a male was more likely than a female. 

He wondered if there were marks on his back too. Listening carefully for people outside, he unlocked the door, turned around, and cast a quick look at his reflection on the mirror across the room. No marks there. Thank all the gods for some mercy. Hurrying back inside, he bit his lips, and lowered his trousers. He had to know.   
There were bruises on his hips and his thighs, but he’d expected that. No, what he wanted to see was… His underwear was clean. He’d been so scared he’d find blood that the relief made him weak and he had to lean against the wall. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be bleeding inside. He cut off several wads of toilet paper, and pressed them inside him, not liking how his hole opened up easily to his fingers. What had happened to him? He carefully removed his hand and looked. No blood there either. 

So, just pain. Whoever had raped him must have used a condom. Or maybe…. He took off his trousers and his underwear and looked at them more carefully. Yes, there it was, a small, dried yellow stain. Who the hell raped without a condom? 

He threw his clothes down, opened the cover of the toilet seat and threw up. Still undigested pieces of vegetables came out with other fluids, and then bile burned its way out of his throat. Tears started falling from his eyes, but all he wanted was to empty his stomach and ignore how he was hurting. 

When he was done, he curled between the toilet seat and the cubicle wall. What was done, was done, he couldn’t change it. He couldn’t go to the police, or a hospital. The idea gave him a migraine and turned his stomach over. But finding a clinic offering free STD tests should be feasible, if not in Yokohama itself, then in Tokyo. He’d start from there. And then…. Find the addresses of homeless shelters in the area. He’d find something. And then….. read up on concussion and…

He looked down at himself again. All the critters had disappeared. Ah, perhaps he was getting better, since the hallucinations had stopped. He smiled and wiped his mouth with some toilet paper. If the hallucinations stopped, then his memory might return soon. Wouldn’t that be nice?

He wondered if he had a family waiting for him. Maybe even looking for him. If they were, he should go to the police. They would help. The nausea returned. No, no, no police. 

Suddenly tired, he closed his eyes. Library first, then research, and then a test, to find out if things could get shittier than they were. Things seemed bad, but he had a plan. All he needed was to follow it. 

&*&*

Following and adjusting the plan, he told himself every other minute. The librarian had been nice but also firm: if he wanted to research things online he had to go to the Metropolitan Library at Tokyo. This service was not provided at the Yokohama Central Library, he was very sorry. 

So, he’d walked out, taken the train to Tokyo, and then repeated to himself that, if he followed the plan, he’d be fine. He had to tell it often to himself. Even though he’d tried to find a place where he would be out of the way, people still pushed him this way and that every time the train stopped. And then the voices started. 

… did I remember my keys…. 

… my period is late….

… I don’t want to meet Yoji later…. 

…. My boss is such an asshole, making me babysit for him… 

… I can totally picture him with that other hot guy at the back… 

… I shouldn’t have drunk that last beer yesterday… 

He wanted to shout at them to stop, but how did you stop voices in your head? Getting out had provided him with some relief, but then he’d taken the metro, and the voices were worse. What was even worse was the guy behind him that was rubbing himself against him, and he couldn’t do anything because if he did, the police would be involved, and the idea of the police made part of his head ache like something was splitting it in two. 

“Good boy,” the man moaned behind him, as he kept pushing his groin against him, making him feel his penis, hard and heavy and hot and… 

He ran out at the first stop, found the toilet, locked himself inside and threw up. Yes, he’d follow and adjust his plan according to his anxiety. He couldn’t stand being touched. And maybe his allergies. He’d vomited everything he’d eaten already; what the hell was making him break out in hives? Another thing to research, when he finally found the library. 

&*&*

The librarians there were nice and professional, and showed him where he could sit so he could research all the things he wanted. There was even paper and pen for him to use, if he wanted to take notes. Their professional politeness almost made him cry with gratitude. As for the library? It was quiet. Even the voices were quieter, whispering instead of shouting at him. 

He liked the library, he decided when he got out to get an onigiri. Tokyo was too fast for him, therefore he must have been from the countryside. He appreciated calm and quiet places, and the song of birds in the park where he sat down to have his lunch was the best music he could imagine. 

Yes, he must have lived in a farm before coming here and getting attacked. His hands were full of calluses, after all, and he couldn’t imagine what might have caused them. The only thing that came to mind was some tool, but what? His small research online hadn’t yielded any results. 

Lunch over, he went back to the library. No point in thinking from where he was. Not when he needed to find a place to spend the night. He smiled; he could probably sleep in the park if he couldn’t find a shelter. The day was warm; the night promised to be warm too. Well… his plan for the night now had an alternative.

&*&*

Adjust the plan when necessary. That was the plan. He’d sleep in the park. That was the new, adjusted plan. He’d found the address of a shelter online, but between taking the metro, being groped, feeling sick, getting off to throw up, getting back on the train, and going there, the shelter was closed for the night. At least some kind soul had suggested to which park to go, so he wouldn’t be kicked out of his sleeping place by the police.

“What are you doing here?” A guy pushing a supermarket trolley filled with things and bags shouted at him moments after he sat on a bench. 

“Eh?”

“That’s my spot. Get out of here.” He approached him, pointing at some cardboard under the bench. “Can’t you see that this is my spot?”

He stood up. “I’m sorry.”

“Hm,” the man grumbled. “There’s some free spots there,” he pointed further down. 

“Thank you.”

The man ignored him as he started setting up his bed. 

Further down, he told himself. Look for spots without cardboard, blankets, bags. Further down. He stumbled on a trolley. “Excuse me,” he bowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you lost?” The man pushing the trolley asked him. “You look lost.”

“I guess I am.” 

“I can take you to the police box.”

“No, no need, thank you.” He bowed again and started walking. Further down. Somewhere. 

“Wait,” the man called out. “The police box is in the other direction.”

“No, I’m fine.”

The man snorted. “I can see that. Son, wait.”

He stopped. “Yes?”

The man looked at him sympathetically. “I can show you the way to a capsule hotel, if you want.”

He didn’t have the money for that. Maybe later, when he found some work. “No….”

“Did you just lose your home?” he asked even more gently.

He nodded. 

“Follow me, then. It’s tough being outside when you have no idea what you’re doing,” he said. “Push this for me, will you?”

He studied the man. He was perhaps in his sixties, or even seventies, with a tanned, lined face. He gave him a kind, warm feeling. “How did you know I have no idea about this… everything?”

The man snorted. “It’s obvious.” He led him further down the park, to a completely different direction from where he was going, to a row of small blue tents. “Home, sweet home. Stop here,” he said when they reached a tent near the end of the row. “There’s a public toilet there, and a water fountain,” he pointed. “Open all day,” he grinned, taking the trolley from him, and putting it under a plastic sheet. 

He noticed the lines joining various branches of trees, and the clothes hanging from them. “I can dry my clothes there after washing them?”

“Yes.” 

“Hey, Uncle, did you find another stray?” Someone called out. 

“Yes, and I’m keeping it. That’s Nishida,” the man told him. “Just ignore him, he’s an idiot. My name is Tanabe, but everyone calls me Uncle. Have you had dinner?”

“Yes,” he lied. His stomach betrayed him at exactly that minute. 

Uncle grinned and took out two plastic-wrapped buns from a pocket. “Here,” he said handing him one.

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Don’t be an idiot, son. When they give you food, you take it.”

He felt awkward, but hunger won over his embarrassment of taking something from someone who was as poor as he was. “Ah, okay then. Thank you.” He unwrapped it slowly and bit into it. Bread had never tasted so good, he was certain of it. 

Uncle grinned widely. One of his side teeth was missing. He reached under the plastic sheet and fished something out of the trolley. “You asked how I knew you were new to this. That’s how.” He showed him a small shoulder bag. “You keep all your basic stuff with you, when you have no home, like I do.”

“Like, my toothpaste and toothbrush?” He took them out of the back pocket of his jeans. 

Uncle nodded. “Here,” he said, pushing the bag into his hands. “You can stay with me, until you make your own home.”

He smiled, feeling like crying again. Why did random kindness made him want to cry? He took off his shirt, wanting to wash it for the next day, and only when Uncle gasped did he remember the bite marks. So many things had happened to him that day, that the marks had become the least of his worries. “I’m fine,” he said. 

Uncle nodded. “Yes, obviously. You are staying with me.”

“Alright,” he said meekly. “Thank you.” 

And after his clothes were washed and drying on the line, he stepped into the tent and told Uncle that he was lost, and he was from a farm away from Tokyo, but he couldn’t remember more than that. Uncle said nothing about that. He told him instead about the rules of living in the park, whom to avoid, where to find free food, where to sell recyclables, and then fell quiet, into a quiet sleep.

Soon after, he fell asleep too. He was tired, so tired.


	3. Tuesday

When he woke up, he thought of what Uncle had told him. He could go look for recyclables and sell them. It was a good plan, but he still didn’t remember who he was. His stomach still felt weak, and his hives hadn’t subsided. He wasn’t certain if he wanted to go around looking for things to sell. He wanted to remember who he was. He wanted to go home. He counted his money again. He had enough for an onigiri. He could give himself this day to figure out who he was. 

According to what he’d read, his memories could return if something triggered them. Instead of going to the library, where it was quiet, but nothing had seemed to remind him who he was, he left the park and started walking in the hope that he’d see something that would help him remember. Walking meant that he would be limited in his choice of places to see, but the idea of getting into the metro again made him sick. No, better fewer options than being groped again. He shuddered. 

The more he walked, the more he despaired, though. His memory was still behind a wall, and all he accomplished was exhausting himself. He had to pace himself, and try not to get lost. Tokyo was like he imagined the desert to be; everything looked the same to him. At least there were plenty of parks. 

When he found a park he liked, he decided to stop. He had some water, and then sat down and watched a group of children playing. Their energy was exhausting, but amusing at the same time. How had he been as a child? Had he played at a similar park? Did he have friends who might miss him?

He closed his eyes and refused to think further. Such questions made little sense – as little sense as worrying about visiting the clinic on Thursday. Things were as they were, and they were … He sighed. Shitty, still shitty. 

He was hungry and the smell of tobacco drove him crazy. He needed a smoke. Fuck, he needed it so much. The night before Uncle had given him a cigarette, but he hadn’t dared ask for more. Cigarettes were as hard to come by as alcohol, and just as expensive in Uncle’s turf. 

Beggars can’t be shy, he reminded himself. Gods, he should have it engraved somewhere – if he ever remembered if he had money to begin with. He stood up, and followed the scent, past the children’s playground into a wide area with tables and benches under the heavy shade of cherry trees. This place would be so lovely in spring. He could imagine it being a popular place to watch the cherry blossoms.

It was popular in summer, too, though, with each table taken up by Go players of all ages. He spotted the placard announcing ‘Support your Local Go Club’, and he sighed. Support meant money. But, fuck it, the scent of tobacco was too powerful. He would go, ask for a cigarette, and leave. 

He spotted the smokers soon. Two old men playing Go at a table, quiet and focused on their game. Only their hands moved; either to place a stone or to take a drag. He approached them slowly, and watched them play. 

The younger of the two spotted him a few moments later. “Only crows watch like that. Have a seat,” he said, patting the bench next to him.

“Thanks.” 

“Do you play Go?”

“I think so.” The more he watched, the more it looked familiar. “Excuse me, can you spare a cigarette?” he asked a few minutes later, after the younger man had placed a stone that sealed the match to his favour. 

The older man ignored him. “I lost. Thank you for the game,” he told his opponent.

“Ha, I told you I’d win,” the younger of the two grinned. He turned towards him. “You want a cigarette, you said?” He took out a packet. “You can have them all, if you win.”

“Takeda-san, must you turn everything into a bet?” A young man in a yellow tee-shirt and bleached bangs laughed. He wrote down the score and then seemed to notice him. “Seriously,” he muttered, and then almost run away from them. 

Sai, Sai, Sai, Sai, Sai. 

He pressed his hand against his temple, trying to stop the voice. 

The older man touched his shoulder. “I’ll give you a cigarette if you lose,” he smiled. “I’m Takayama Naoto.”

“Thank you, Takayama-san.” He moved next to the old man and picked up the bowl of white stones. “Nigiri?” he asked politely, offering it to Takeda-san.

Takeda-san put his hand inside the bowl. 

He reached inside the bowl of black stones. He had no idea if he played well, but play he must. Oh, gods of Go, let me win, he begged. I need a smoke. Gods of Go, hear my prayer. He took out a stone and placed it on the board. 

&*&*

The Gods of Go were on his side. When he could, he would give them something in return for their favour. But until then… “If you move your stone from here,” he said, taking it from where Takeda-san had played, “and put it here, see how you can block this entire area?”

Takeda-san frowned. “So, if I had played here,” he started, “I could have….”

Someone touched his shoulder. “You didn’t even pay the admission fee, and now you have the nerve to teach?”

“Eh?” He looked back, to a tall, blond man in a white linen suit that looked at him coldly behind square glasses. He felt dizzy; the hair should be different, the hair should be so blond it was almost platinum. The man’s name slipped from his memory, though, and the face did too. Only the unsettled feeling associated with the man remained. “Excuse me?”

Takeda-san took out a thousand-yen note and gave it to the man. “Ogata-sensei, I’ll pay his fee.”

“Even so, you can’t teach unless you have a license and you are a member of one of the Associations.”

“I wasn’t trying to teach anyone,” he protested. “I was just showing him how he could have beaten me.”

“Same difference,” Ogata-sensei said dismissively. 

“Don’t be such a grouch,” the young man with the bleached hair said, grinning. “The point is to get people to enjoy Go, and come to Ito-san’s salon. Who cares if he’s not a teacher, if he’s making our Takeda-san happy?”

Takeda-san nodded with a wide, amused grin. “Yes, who cares?”

“I do,” Ogata-sensei snorted, still annoyed. 

“I bet you only mind because you saw he’s good and you’re scared he’ll steal your job,” Takeda-san said, with the same mischievous grin. 

“I’m not scared of anyone,” Ogata-sensei huffed. He motioned Takeda-san to move aside. “Let’s see how good you are,” he told him. 

He shrugged. He had his cigarettes. He didn’t care if he were the worst player in Japan now. 

&*&*

The Gods of Go were still on his side, and the only thing he regretted was not betting on Ogata-sensei’s cigarettes. They smelled even better than the ones he’d won from Takeda-san. 

“You’re not a pro,” Ogata-sensei stated as he counted the score.

“I don’t think so. No. I’m certain of it.”

Ogata-sensei frowned for a second. 

“I…” He smiled. “I just like Go. Shogi is about winning but Go is about beauty.” He closed his eyes, throwing his head back and enjoying the warmth. “And candies,” he smiled. “Grandfather and I would play with candies; caramel for black and green tea for white. And all the candies I won, I could eat.” He laughed. Grandfather smelled of ink and green tea and only gave him the candies he’d won, never more. “Instead of greeting me, he’d have the board set for a game and only after winning, would he hug me. And give me candies.” He opened his eyes to find Ogata-san staring at him curiously. “Have you never played for candies, Sensei?”

Ogata-sensei started laughing. 

“You’re welcome to play at my salon whenever you want,” a man in his fifties smiled at him. 

“Thank you, but… perhaps another time.”

“Would you care for another game?” Shindou-sensei asked him eagerly.

He was about to reply when his stomach growled. “Eh…. Maybe later?”

Shindou-sensei grabbed his arm and pulled him up. “I’m hungry too,” he said. “Let’s go get something.”

He froze, feeling sick, and stared at Shindou-sensei’s arm until the young man let him go. “Maybe later,” he repeated. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt embarrassed of his situation. “What time it is?”

“It’s half past one,” Takayama-san replied. 

“Oh, I’m late,” he lied. “I was supposed to meet a friend at one. Excuse me. Takeda-san, Takayama-san, it was a pleasure to meet you. Ogata-sensei, thank you for the game.” He bowed and turned away from them, heading back towards the playground as fast as he could.

“You should join us for lunch,” Ogata-sensei told him moments later. 

He turned. “I can’t, okay? I am expected,” he shouted. His stomach growled again. He took out a cigarette and then realized he had no light. “Fuck,” he sighed, frustrated. 

Ogata-sensei offered him a lighter. 

“Thanks.” Smoking made him feel euphoric. He closed his eyes, and sighed again, this time in pleasure. When he opened his eyes, Ogata-sensei was staring at him. “What now?”

“I want a rematch after lunch.”

He counted to ten inside his head. “I can’t have lunch with you, don’t you get it?”

“No. Clearly you are not expected anywhere. If you were, you wouldn’t have spent all morning playing Go.”

He glared at the annoying man. Beggars couldn’t be shy, that was his motto, but why did he not want to be a beggar in front of this man? And all the kind people back there? Where was this stupid pride coming from? “Please,” he said, feeling defeated and annoyed at himself. “I really am expected elsewhere.”

“You really are lying,” Ogata-sensei smirked. “Or are you afraid of losing to me?”

“I’m not afraid of that.”

“Then?”

Ogata-sensei’s smirk was so familiar, and yet strange at the same time. “Just forget it,” he said, and started towards the main street. 

Ogata-sensei grabbed his arm. “No,” he said firmly at the same time as he used Ogata-sensei’s momentum to throw him off him and on the ground. Ogata-sensei looked up at him confused, as if he had no idea what had happened.

“Gods, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he told him, feeling even more awkward and embarrassed than earlier. He was scared to help Sensei up; what if he hurt him by accident?

Ogata-sensei smirked as he let out a small huff. He pushed himself up slowly. “For this, you owe me lunch AND a rematch,” he grinned wickedly, dusting off his suit. 

His legs couldn’t hold him up suddenly. How had he ended up in this situation? He slid to the ground and covered his face with his hands. “I can’t,” he whispered. He waited, but Ogata-sensei was also waiting. He could hear him breathing. He slowly lifted his head up and looked at him from between his fingers. “I’m really broke at the moment, Ogata-sensei. Can you take a rain check?”

Ogata-sensei offered him his hand. “I can take a rain check on the lunch, but not on the rematch,” he told him seriously. 

He took it and let the other man pull him up. Ah, since he couldn’t avoid being a beggar, he might as well go all the way with his begging. “Deal. But, if I win the next match, can I have your cigarettes? And money for a lighter?”

&*&*

Uncle was sitting outside his tent when he arrived. 

“Did you miss the shelter’s closing time again?” Uncle laughed.

He sat by Uncle’s feet. “Yes, but,” he smiled up at Uncle. “I’d rather be here than there. I learned a couple of new things about myself today. I remembered my Grandfather. He smelled of green tea, so I think the farm was a tea farm. Also, we played Go. And a Go professional paid for my food in exchange for games,” he smiled. Ogata-sensei had also given him a small loan instead of just the money for a lighter, and, he took out the sandwiches from his bag. “He also bought me these, but I don’t need them,” he said as he gave them to Uncle. “They should keep; I made sure that they have nothing that could go bad overnight.”

Uncle took them.

“He also bought me beer.” He took out a couple of cans, laughing. “Here.”

“Are you sure he just wanted games?” Uncle asked him quietly.

He nodded. “Yes. We’ve been playing since two. If he wanted anything else, he would have made it obvious at some point.” He smiled again. “No. He only got upset when he was told that he was being selfish and that he should let others play against me too.” 

“So, you enjoyed yourself today.” He opened the first of the cans and offered it to him. 

“Yes, I did,” he said, taking it and having a sip. Ah, beer tasted so good at the end of the day. He hadn’t allowed himself to drink while out, but now, he could indulge himself. 

Uncle studied him. “You should go to the police.” He glanced down at his chest for a second. “Or a hospital.”

The idea made sense, and yet, it made him physically unwell the moment it was suggested. “I have been thinking about it. I,” he looked down, and saw no weird creatures hanging on him, “I started remembering things. This means I’m getting better and my memory should come back soon. When it does, I will go home.” He smiled. “If I have a family, can you imagine how worried they will be to get a call from the police telling them I am lost in Tokyo? I can’t do it to them.”

“If you have a family, they are probably worried sick already.”

“But what if I came here on business? Or vacation? What if I am supposed to be away these days?”

Uncle shook his head. “You’re a stubborn fool.”

“Maybe. But I have this feeling that things will work out,” he smiled softly. “I should trust my feelings, right?” 

Uncle drank some beer and didn’t reply. 

“Besides, I have a plan. If my memory doesn’t come back by the time these are healed,” he touched his chest for a second, “then I will go to the police and tell them I need help. But I am not going home while…” He took another sip. He didn’t want to think about the monster that had attacked him. “Everything will be fine,” he smiled again, wanting to reassure himself more than Uncle. 

Uncle didn’t say anything to that. He just looked at him like he was being stupid. Perhaps he were. 

“I’ll go out tomorrow again. Maybe something else will jog my memory.” He grinned. “And another Go professional invited me to play against him tomorrow afternoon. Go is so beautiful, Uncle. It’s like a dance. Your partner makes a move, and you respond, and as you move, you create a world of harmony and balance and beauty. Yes, Go is wonderful.”

Uncle shook his head, snorting for a moment. A green tea farm, he thought. Then he drained his beer. “I’m going to bed,” he said, standing up slowly.

“I’ll wash my clothes first and then join you.” 

Uncle smiled at him.

He sighed the moment the flap of the tent closed behind Uncle. Things were still shitty, but he couldn’t focus on finding a job when he was still feeling so cold inside. Now that he had some money, he’d give himself the next day and Thursday too, until he got the test out of the way and then, on Friday, he’d go and gather cans and other recyclables that he could sell. He’d also noticed an announcement for a small festival at a nearby park at the weekend. It should be possible to get some work cleaning after that, shouldn’t it?


	4. Wednesday

Things continued being shitty. He’d woken up in the middle of the night to pee, and the moment he was out, he saw that the damned critters were all over him. At least they were quiet. He’d gone back to bed wanting to cry, and knowing he’d have to wait until he found a toilet stall to do that. The only good thing was that he was alive, and it was yet another bright, but not excessively warm day.

He could hide in the library for the day. He liked the library. The library was quiet. Yes, that was an option, but what if there was something out there that could remind him who he was? 

Yes, hiding in the library was a good idea but the plan for the day was walking until he got tired. His only concern was not to touch anyone. When he accidentally touched someone, the voices in his head were louder, and he didn’t like it when people shouted at him – even if they were just in his head. 

He must have been happy in the countryside, growing tea with Grandfather. Why had he left it? He stopped at the recess formed by the entrance of a music store and studied his hands. His history was written on the book of his body, but it was written in a language he didn’t know, and the pages were stuck together. Then he realised how stupid he was being, standing still by the door, and walked inside. 

There was music playing softly and it made him stop. He’d never heard anything like it, he was certain of that. It was slow and stately and full of a deep melancholy that touched some part of him. 

“Can I help you?”

He turned around, almost hitting the person who’d asked him, an elderly gentleman dressed in a tweed jacket. He opened his mouth to reply, but the voice of the singer shut him up. Such a high, delicate voice, gliding over the notes and then slowly falling down, before rising again. She repeated the first part of her song, and then continued with the same effortless grace, until she reached a point where she slowed down again. She reprised the song an octave lower, and then up her voice went again. “That, what is that?”

The gentleman smiled at him. “This? Just some baroque music.”

“Please, what is it?”

The gentleman went to his desk and brought him a CD cover. The title was in French and he was surprised to recognize the language. 

“Which song is this?”

A moment later the man handed him over the booklet open near the middle. “Here.”

He was surprised even more that he was able to read the French and English translation, but not the Italian text. They must have been keen on education in that farm where he grew up. “Oh, this is beautiful,” he sighed. “How her voice slows when the lyrics talk about languishing, and how it rises in her despair.” Somehow the text felt important to him. He closed his eyes, letting the music envelop him for a moment. “Simply exquisite.”

The man was smiling at him when he opened his eyes, nodding.

As slow and courtly as the piece he’d been listening to was, so fast was the piece that followed it. Even more surprising was that he could almost see the tablature as the piece unfolded, and his fingers itched to play it. “That’s not a guitar, is it? What is it?”

“It’s a baroque guitar.”

“It sounds almost like a classical guitar,” he nodded to himself and then looked up. How did he know these things? “I should learn Italian, when I have time,” he smiled. 

“Or guitar,” the gentleman told him. 

“Baroque guitar. I know how to play the classical one,” he nodded. “And my friend plays the piano, while his fiancée plays the flute. We played together often when we were younger.” He closed his eyes for a moment, but the memory slipped away as soon as the words were out of his mouth. But that was something. Another new memory. He grinned. He should find a place selling music instruments and check what else he would remember. He knew how to play the guitar, but that was not the instrument he’d used to express his feelings. 

The little bell announcing another customer rang. 

“Oriya?”

“Can I help you?” the gentleman turned towards his new customer. 

“Oriya?” The man insisted. 

There was no one else in the shop but him and the owner. Ah, was the newcomer addressing him? He turned around, shaking his head, finding himself face to face with a handsome man in his forties, dressed in a suit that looked expensive. “I’m sorry.”

The man studied him. “You look so much like him,” he whispered. “But, no, he’d never leave Kyoto.” He kept studying him. 

The voice in his head suddenly woke up. So much like him, it said. Same hair, same build, but no, the eyes look lighter, and Oriya would never wear Western clothes. Perhaps if one can’t have the original, one can have the copy?

He felt dizzy. He didn’t know what he looked like, but a moment later, the shop owner pulled him down and made him sit on a chair. 

“Are you alright?” both he and the man asked him.

He nodded. The voices in his head, they were not his. He was not crazy. And what did that man want from him? No, he couldn’t, could he? “Who is Oriya?” he asked instead. 

The man gave him a tiny smile. 

He stood up. “Please, it’s important that I know.”

The man pointed at the booklet still in his hands. “You like that?”

He nodded a second before thinking that he should keep his opinions to himself. 

The man turned to the owner. “I’d like to buy that,” he said. 

The owner nodded and hurried to the back of the store. 

“My name is Tanaka,” the man told him offering him his hand. “Have lunch with me, and I will tell you who Oriya is.” Come, join me, pretty copy, he thought. You’ll look as good as he would against my sheets. 

He could almost smell Tanaka’s desire for the original. He smiled. The prospect of food was too much of a lure, and, he was certain that, as long as they were in a public space, Tanaka wouldn’t do anything untoward. “Alright.”

He waited while the shop owner came back and Tanaka paid for the CD. Then he followed Tanaka out, quietly until Tanaka reached his car. 

“Come in.”

Closed spaces were dangerous. Judging from the past days, he’d either freeze and then throw up all over Tanaka’s expensive suit and shoes, or he’d hit him, and then the police would get involved. “No, I’m sorry.” He pointed to a place advertising ramen at the end of the street. “We can have lunch there.”

Tanaka snorted. Oriya would never eat ramen, he thought. He looked around. “I prefer French cuisine, when I can’t have good Japanese food,” he said pointing to a fancy-looking restaurant. 

He looked down at himself. The place looked too good to let in someone like him. 

“They will let us in,” Tanaka answered as if he’d heard his thoughts. He smiled as he guided him towards it. 

He shrugged. If they didn’t, there was still that ramen place in the corner. The pictures of the food looked so good.

As he’d suspected, the person at the entrance cast a disparaging look at him but one look at at Tanaka’s card made him guide them inside. Only his look changed too for a second, from disparaging to ironic. And then he pretended to be perfectly polite and professional, leading them towards a table at the end of the restaurant. 

He sat down before Tanaka and opened the menu to hide his sudden burning cheeks. He wasn’t a cheap whore, like that waiter thought. He was a beggar who’d agreed to lunch, and nothing else. The thought made him sick in his stomach. Unless that feeling was just hunger. He snorted. 

“Do you need help with the menu?” Tanaka asked him gently. 

He put it down and looked at it properly. Of course, it was all in French. “Yes, please,” he lied. “No, you are the expert on French food. Can you order for me? Please?”   
Tanaka’s smile was warm. “As you wish.” He studied the menu for a few moments and then raised his hand to alert their waiter that they were ready. 

He half-listened as Tanaka ordered goat’s cheese salad, fish, and white wine. “Would you like some dessert too?” 

“No, thank you.” He handed his menu to the waiter and smiled at Tanaka. “So, who is Oriya?”

Tanaka shook his head, laughing. “You can’t even pretend to care for my company?”

He smiled again. “Forgive me for being crude, but if you wanted someone to do that, you would have been here with a whore.”

Tanaka choked on the water he was drinking. 

He leaned over the table. “Tanaka-san, despite all this,” he pointed at the area around them, “I don’t need you. You, on the other hand, seem quite keen on me.” He smiled. “I’m curious. If you are not willing to indulge me, I will leave now.”

“You have quite the nerve,” Tanaka grinned, looking amused, “for an obviously homeless, jobless punk.”

“I wouldn’t be able to survive my situation without my nerve,” he laughed, honest with himself and the man. 

Tanaka laughed as well. “In return for your honesty, I will be honest too. Oriya is…” His expression softened, “the forbidden fruit of a garden of delights in Kyoto.”

He had no idea what that meant exactly. Was Tanaka as keen on florid metaphors as he was? “He is someone you like,” he said quietly. “Romantically.”

“Excuse me? Who spoke of romance?”

“Your expression was more honest than your words.” 

Tanaka rubbed the back of his head. “I am attracted to him,” he muttered. 

“And you like him,” he insisted, smiling softly, conspiratorially. 

Tanaka looked away. 

“I will continue being honest, in return for your honesty. If you like him, you will not be satisfied with me. For the sake of argument, let us assume that I do follow you in your car, and I do spend the evening in your house tonight.”

Tanaka gulped.

From the corner of his eye he saw their waiter stop a meter away and then turn away, as if scalded. He smirked for a second. “If we have sex tonight, you will not satisfy your curiosity. You will wake up and wonder if your Oriya has any marks on his body, or if his hair will feel as soft.” He decided not to tell him that he’d definitely wonder about the length and thickness of his Oriya’s cock. “And you will not satisfy your romantic feelings either. You will feel that you slept with a poor black-and-white copy, while the original is full of vibrant colours.”

Tanaka paled. 

“Tanaka-san, I could sleep with you, but it wouldn’t be fair to myself, yourself, or your Oriya. No, you should go after him.”

“He’s an ice prince.”

“Ice can melt, Tanaka-san.” He grinned. “If you like him, you should woo him.”

“How? He’s…” Tanaka sighed. 

“Offer him something no one else has.” He started getting annoyed. Tanaka looked experienced and worldly. What was this Oriya person like to make such a man act like a tongue-tied school-child? “You mentioned he’s in Kyoto? Perhaps he is tired of all the … Japanese atmosphere around him. Perhaps he would like someone to invite him to dinner to a French restaurant, or a concert of classical music.”

Tanaka looked at him strangely. “Perhaps, you are right.” He frowned. “Why do you care?”

“Honestly?”

He nodded. 

“Because you could have told me, ‘I’m paying for your company, so you must act the whore.’ Instead you indulged my curiosity, and treated me like I’m not a homeless, jobless punk.”

Tanaka smiled. “I can have plenty of whores. But not enough honest people. Even when they are nothing but punks full of attitude.”

He smiled back. 

Tanaka offered him the CD. “Here, another gift for your honesty.”

He looked at it. It was still wrapped. Perhaps the shop owner would agree to buy it back, and even at half-price, it would be enough for a cup of tea and a sandwich. Ogata-sensei’s loan would only go that far. He couldn’t be reckless in spending Ogata-sensei’s money. He couldn’t turn this gift down. He took it. “Thank you.”  
Tanaka shook his head. “And you are convinced I shouldn’t try convincing you to sleep with me tonight?”

“Yes,” he nodded, smiling brightly. “We’d both regret it tomorrow, and I can assure you, you’d regret it more than me.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because I can’t compare you to anyone, Tanaka-san, and so I will not find you lacking. Believe me, you Will find me disappointing compared to your Oriya.”

“He’s not mine.”

“Because you haven’t tried. Forbidden fruits wait to be plucked, Tanaka-san. That is their fate. They are not to be looked at.”

Tanaka looked at him as if he were a wise old man. 

He drank some water. That Oriya must have been something. He smiled. Well, if Oriya was in Kyoto, he wouldn’t mind if little, ol’ him used his name from then on, until he remembered who he was? He had to introduce himself to people somehow…. 

&*&*

Shindou-sensei waited for him at the entrance of the building. He was not alone, though. Another young man, dressed in a dark, sensible suit that didn’t match his sleek, long black hair, was waiting next to him. “That’s him,” Shindou-sensei shouted to his companion, as if he were not standing right next to him. 

“Shindou-sensei,” he bowed, embarrassed at the way they were staring at him. Perhaps he should have spent some of the money Ogata-sensei had lent him into getting a new tee-shirt. The one he was wearing was clean, but it was still the same one he’d worn the day before. 

“I’m Touya Akira,” the other young man told him politely, bowing as well. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Oriya,” he said, finding that he liked how the name sounded out of his lips. It felt as if it fit him, somehow. “Pleased to meet you.”

Touya-san smiled a little and then led the way. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone beat Ogata-sensei,” Shindou-sensei said, sounding impressed. 

“I was lucky, I guess.”

Touya-san and Shindou-sensei shared a look. 

“Where did you learn to play Go, Oriya-san?”

“My Grandfather taught me.” 

“He must have been very good.”

“I don’t know. He was Grandfather.” What else could he say? He had no idea how strong Grandfather was. All he remembered was an endless series of games, one blending to the next, guiding him further and further away from his tiny self to one where he was at least ten years old– judging by the memory of his hands holding the stones. “And then, after Grandfather passed away, I played with Uncle,” he smiled. Uncle too had been old, a friend of Grandfather’s, with eyes sparkling with amusement, long, white hair and dressed in kimono, just like Grandfather. 

Touya-san smiled politely. 

“Uncle lives in Tokyo,” he suddenly exclaimed. Perhaps he’d been visiting him before he was attacked? If he found Uncle, then maybe his memory would come back? Or maybe Uncle would help him go home?

Touya-san and Shindou-sensei shared another look before leading him into a bright waiting area. 

“Ichikawa-san, we are not to be disturbed. And can we have some tea?”

“Of course, Akira-kun.”

Touya-san smiled at her. “Here,” he said, opening the door to a spacious office. There was a desk with a laptop on one corner, but what dominated the room was the goban in the middle. “Would you play a game with me, Oriya-san?”

“With pleasure.”

Shindou-sensei made a face. “I thought that Ogata-sensei was bad, but you’re just as bad, Akira,” he whined. 

“You played him yesterday.”

“So what?”

He smiled as he sat down, Shindou-sensei behind him. Touya-san passed him the bowl with the white stones and he picked up a few. 

“Why do you keep your hair long?” Shindou-sensei asked him suddenly. Only Sai had hair like that. 

“I don’t know. Habit, I guess?”

“Hm,” he said, sounding disappointed. 

“Really, Hikaru,” Touya-san snorted as he put down two black stones.

“I’m curious,” Shindou-sensei continued, sounding more like a five year old than a professional and accomplished Go player. 

He put down six stones. “You take Black, Touya-san.”

“San,” Shindou-sensei laughed. “When was the last time someone called you that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Akira is also a Sensei,” Shindou-sensei told him, looking proud of his friend. He beat me to the title, he thought, still with pride. 

“Ah, forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”

“It’s fine,” Touya-sensei smiled. “Let’s play.” He put down the first stone near the upper right corner. 

He knew that the next two black stones would start determining the course of the game. He smiled as he put down his stone. If Touya-sensei was curious about him, then so was he.

&*&*

“Ogata-sensei told me that you were looking for a job,” Touya-sensei told him after his game with Shindou-sensei, and looking more remorseful than after losing. “I wish I could hire you to teach here, Oriya-san, but you have to be a member of the Go Association. Are you sure you are not?”

“Completely.”

“Maybe you can hire him as a cleaner? And have him teach off the record?” Shindou-sensei suggested. 

“Out of the question.”

Both young men turned to him as one.

He took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I was not completely honest with Ogata-sensei. Yes, I am looking for a job, but at the moment I have no papers, so it is impossible for me to get any legitimate work.” He bowed. “I would not put you in that position, Touya-sensei.”

“How can you have no papers? You are Japanese, right?” Shindou-sensei shouted.

“Well… someone attacked me a few days ago, and…” He shrugged. “They stole my wallet, and they must have hit me on the head because I don’t remember who I am.”

Shindou-sensei looked at him horrified. 

“Then you should go to the hospital.” Touya-sensei said immediately and stood up. “Now. Get up, I’ll take you there.”

“No hospital, please. My memories are coming back. I already remember Grandfather, and playing Go and the guitar, so… I am certain I will be fine in a few days.”

“And if you are not?” Touya-sensei asked him seriously.

Having people be so concerned over him made him feel awkward, and yet, warm inside. “Then I will seek help. I just need a few days to sort things out.”

“What things?” Shindou-sensei shouted again. “You need to listen to Akira.”

Touya-sensei nodded. “Oriya-san, let us help you.”

He stood up, and raised himself to his full height, towering over both young men. “I am fine,” he told them slowly. “When I need help, I ask for it.” He grinned. “For example, I would really appreciate a lift. I hate traveling by the metro. If you would be so kind as to help with that?”

Touya-sensei’s mouth fell open in shock. Shindou-sensei started laughing. “And why do you hate it?” he wheezed out. 

He kept smiling at them. Such wholesome boys, both of them. How could they know the horror of traveling in a packed cabin? Or perhaps it was him, attracting perverts wherever he went. “Thank you for the games. It was fun.” He bowed and turned to leave.

“You’re welcome to come back anytime,” Touya-sensei said as he opened the door. 

Maybe after he found a paying job. He wouldn’t be able to afford the fee for playing otherwise. 

Shindou-sensei suddenly ran after him. “I’ll give you a lift,” he said. “But, Oriya-san, Akira meant well. You should accept his help, or mine. Let me take you to the hospital, please.”

“Thank you, I will consider it.”

The young man snorted. “Has anyone told you that you are stubborn?”

“Yes, several people, repeatedly,” he grinned. 

Shindou-sensei shook his head. Such a shame, to play so well and not be able to play professionally. Just like Sai. What a shame that had been too. Shindou-sensei tried to hide that he was studying him as he guided him to his car.

He must have had such a common face, first to remind Tanaka of his Oriya, and now this young man of his Sai. Did anyone think of him? He shook his head. No, this was not the time for pointless thoughts. This was the time to think if maybe he should go to the police and find out if someone was looking for …. He started feeling sick at the idea. Sick and miserable and with the beginning of a migraine behind his right eye. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, just…” How to explain that just the thought of asking for help from the proper authorities made him physically ill? How messed up was that? And what could have caused him to have such anxiety?

Shindou-sensei grinned. “Yes, I’m hungry too. Would you like some ramen before I give you a lift? My treat.”

“You are too kind.”

“Nonsense. I expect you to pay me back. Tomorrow…” he took out his phone, “no, Friday afternoon, you, me and the board. No interruptions, no Akira, definitely no Ogata-sensei,” he grimaced. “Greedy players, both of them.”

He smiled. “I knew people sang for their dinner, but didn’t know it applied to Go as well.”

Shindou-sensei laughed again. “You can sing if you like, but I will only accept payment in matches.”

“I can live with that.”

“Great.” He made a note on his mobile and stretched his arms. “This was a good day, wasn’t it, Oriya-san?”

He smiled. It was better than the day before, he would agree to that.

&*&*

“And then I agreed to play Go on Friday,” he finished telling Uncle a sanitized version of his day – one that did not include getting groped in the metro again, or that he’d met a man who had wanted to fuck him because he couldn’t fuck some weird guy called Oriya. 

“Let me get this straight,” Uncle said when he was done, “you play Go, classical music, and speak at least two foreign languages?”

He nodded.

Uncle started laughing. “And you still think you grew up in the countryside, at a farm growing tea?”

He showed him his hands. “Yes, or how else do you explain these?”

Uncle continued laughing. “Son, in what farm would you have time to learn all that?” He patted his hands. “But if that’s what you want to believe, then fine.” 

“But…” he looked at his calluses. 

Uncle shook his head. “I bet these are from practicing martial arts. Perhaps archery or kendo or something just as fancy. Boy, sorry to tell you, but you grew up in a farm as much as I grew up in Switzerland.”

His shoulders sagged. No, he had to be from the countryside. He liked peace and quiet and Tokyo was too fast for him. 

“It’s ok, son. You’ll go home soon, and then you’ll laugh at your own imagination.”

He shrugged. Would he ever go home?


	5. Thursday

He stood outside the clinic and checked the opening hours. He was early, but what else was he supposed to do? He’d found sleep impossible the night before. He even played with the little critters before they vanished with the sunrise, that’s how stressed he’d been. He snorted. Perhaps he should seek psychiatric help, not get checked for STDs. 

He could imagine that discussion well. ‘Doctor, I hallucinate that small creatures want to be my pets between two and five in the morning.’ 

‘And?’

‘Can you get them to stay the rest of the day too? They are good at distracting me from things that stress me.’ They were quite soft and cuddly, for weightless little things. 

He snorted again. Yes, that was exactly what he would ask. 

He started walking around the block, and then the next one, and the next. At exactly ten o’clock he took a deep breath, turned back and went to the clinic. By the time he’d arrived, he wasn’t even the first there. Quietly, he took a number and sat down across a girl with a blackened eye, and close to a young man in a woman’s dress. 

A few moments later the young man changed seats. “It’s just a little prick,” the young man suddenly whispered to him. “And if it’s Ando-kun, you won’t even feel that.”

He looked up.

“You look terrified,” the young man smiled. “First time?”

He nodded.

“The first time is always the scariest,” he said, “but don’t worry. It’s better to get this done, than not do anything.”

The girl next to him nodded. “I was scared the first time too, but now,” she shrugged, “it’s just part of my health routine.”

“Ah, thank you.”

They smiled at him. 

The young man nudged him. “I know people say this is wrong, but unprotected sex is the best. The feeling of being fucked without a glove cannot compare with anything, even with all the risks involved.”

The girl snorted. “And sometimes condoms break,” she said, nodding. “It’s true, though, it feels better when your partner takes you without one.” She came and sat next to him. “What do you think?”

He looked at them, feeling like this was not how it was supposed to be. People were supposed to be politely quiet and embarrassed to start discussing their sex lives with complete strangers. It was as if he’d fallen into a rabbit hole, and ended up uninvited for tea at a sex dungeon. But then, wasn’t his entire week so far, a long, slow trip not into, but out of a rabbit hole? He could catch glimpses of the sky above, but everywhere around him there was mud and dirt, and this was not his home. 

“Well?” the young man nudged him again, smiling conspiratorially. 

If they were not politely quiet, why should he be? All he had was his attitude, but there, he didn’t even have that. He was scared, and looked scared, and he felt cold, so very cold inside. “I…” Despite what he’d decided, he couldn’t look at them. “I was raped. I didn’t enjoy it,” he managed to say before his throat tightened and closed.

The young man hugged him immediately, the girl a second later. “Oh,” she gasped softly. 

“It’s ok,” the young man whispered. 

“No, it is not ok,” he said, shaking his head, and suddenly he felt tears at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t behind a closed door, he couldn’t cry. He shouldn’t cry. He … fuck it. He was crying. 

The girl hugged him more tightly. “I know, I know,” she said. She touched her cheek. “This was a gift from my… boyfriend. I didn’t enjoy it either.”

He felt the young man shift position and hug him and the girl at the same time. “Shh…” 

A nurse came out of the door marked ‘WC’ at that moment. She looked at them curiously. 

“Saito-san,” the young man said, “Can we have some tea?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said. 

“Nonsense,” the young man cut him off. “You, and you, need tea. And I need a drink.”

Saito-san laughed. “I can make tea, but forget about getting a drink here, Sho.”

The young man pouted and struck a pose. “But….”

“No.” She opened another door, letting them see inside a small kitchen. 

“You should tell Saito-san what you just told me,” he smiled at them. “She will get you the help you need.”

“I’m fine,” said the girl. “He was just in one of his moods.”

“That’s not right,” he said at the same time as the young man.

The young man nodded. 

“No, it’s fine,” she insisted. 

He smiled. And people called him stubborn. 

Saito-san came out with four mugs. “Here,” she said. “Tea for everyone.”

“Thank you.”

Another door opened and a tall, blond young man came out, followed by a tiny young man in a white coat. “Number Three?”

The young man blew him a kiss. “Ando-kun, my love. Are you glad to see me?”

Ando-kun grinned. “Of course. Come in, Sho.”

He blew kisses to them too. “These are my new friends, Ando-kun. Treat them well, or else.”

“Yes, yes,” the young man kept grinning as he let Sho inside the room. 

Saito-san was still looking consciously away from them.

“Erm,” the girl said after taking a small sip of her tea. “You are a big guy,” she whispered, looking both curious and embarrassed. “How did….”

“They drugged me. I don’t remember anything, but… when I woke up, everything hurt, so…” He shrugged. 

“Oh.” She took another sip. Then she looked at him from under her lashes. “So, if you weren’t drugged, would you be able to scare someone? Or even beat him?”

“I think so,” he replied quietly to her soft question. 

“Could you come with me tonight and scare my… boyfriend? Please?”

What was he about to get into? He should be thinking that violence was never the answer to violence, and yet, no one should treat another person like that. Why did he care? He nodded. “Alright. Can you wait for me after I finish getting tested? Then we can talk.”

She smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you. I’m Yumiko.”

“Oriya.”

Yes, he had no idea what he was about to get into, but he couldn’t let that asshole of her boyfriend beat her again. He couldn’t. 

&*&*

Strangely enough, he felt much better after his emotional outburst. He even managed to laugh at Ando-san’s corny introduction as ‘resident vampire’. And Sho had been right; he barely felt the needle go in. Watching the blood fill the syringe was oddly fascinating too.

“The results will be in next week,” he told him as he put a small plaster over the tiny mark where the needle had pierced him, “but, if you want to be completely sure, you should take another test in three months. Some people have a delayed reaction to infection, and antibodies can take a few weeks to appear.”

“I see.”

Ando-san smiled. “You’re doing the best thing that you can. The sooner you know if you are infected with something, the sooner you’ll get treated for it. In the meantime, play safe,” he laughed.

He laughed as well. “Thanks. Have a good day, Ando-san.”

“You too.”

Yumiko was waiting for him outside. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he lied with a smile. He wasn’t. He was terrified, but he didn’t have the energy for another breakdown, or the time. Yumiko needed his help, and he couldn’t help her if he let himself cry … “Crying over spilt milk,” he said in English, grinning.

“What?”

“It’s an expression. You can’t regret what is done, and I’ve been doing something like that for a while now.” Well, no more. He’d deal with the aftermath of his attack if he were infected with something, but until he got his results, he’d stop being scared. What had happened, had happened, he’d acknowledged it, and he couldn’t change it. He could only take action, and he had, so, now he could move on. “So,” he told her as he followed her outside, “do you want to tell me more about your… situation?”

She nodded, but didn’t say a word until they were at a nearby café. She waited until they were seated, and had ordered, and he was about to ask her again. “My,” she hesitated for a moment, “my boyfriend was not bad when we started seeing each other, but now he acts as if he owns me.” She looked at him seriously. “No one owns me. No one. But he’s stronger than me, and when I told him yesterday I wanted to break up with him, he hit me. So,” she took a very deep breath, “can you be there for me tonight, when I tell him again that I want to break up with him?”

“Just that?”

She nodded. “You’re taller than him, and,” she smiled a little wickedly, “definitely more fit. I bet that if he sees you, he won’t even make a scene,” she said, letting out a tiny giggle. 

“Alright, I can do that.”

“Thank you.” She played with her napkin for a moment, then re-arranged the bowl of sugar and the ashtray that were on the table, then moved them again. Is he bi or is he gay? She kept thinking. “Can I ask you something?” she finally managed. 

“Of course.”

She looked at him again. No, forget it. First I have to clear things with Dai. 

He closed his eyes for a moment. Whenever he heard someone’s thoughts, he felt like he was taking part in two discussions, but he could only reply to one of them. It was confusing – but preferable to worrying that he was schizophrenic and off his medication. When he opened them, Yumiko was still staring at him and their waitress had brought them their coffees.

He took a sip, discovering that he didn’t care much for the taste. It was bitter and harsh on the tongue. Tea was better, so much better, but since Yumiko had ordered for them, he couldn’t complain. At least now he knew one more thing about himself, he smiled. 

You’re pretty when you smile, she thought, and looked down, as if her coffee held a mystery that she had to solve.

“Yumiko,” he started, feeling a bit like a hypocrite, “have you thought of going to the police and reporting that your boyfriend is abusive?”

“Not an option,” she said curtly. “I don’t want any trouble with the police.”

He nodded. He could understand – and empathise. 

“And, he wasn’t that bad. I…”

“Do you still have feelings for him?”

“No,” she replied immediately. “But I had feelings for him once. Taking him to the police seems like over-reacting. No, I’d rather we broke up, and never saw each other again,” she smiled. 

“Ok, I understand.”

“Thank you.” She finished her coffee and took the bill in her hands. “My treat,” she said. “A small thanks for your help.” 

“Ah, thank you.”

She took out a business card and wrote her address at the back, making a little map with it. “See you tonight at eight.”

“Yes, you will. Take care.”

“You too.” She cast another look at him before going out. Gods, he’s pretty when he smiles. Much prettier than Dai. 

He smiled and took another sip of his coffee. He had nowhere to be, and didn’t feel like walking aimlessly in the hope that something would help him remember. He didn’t feel like looking for a job either. He ought to do that soon; the money Ogata-sensei had lent him would not last forever, and, at some point, his luck meeting people who were kind enough to feed him would run out. But not that day. No, that day he’d rather spend in the library. 

Still smiling, he took out a cigarette. One of Ogata-sensei’s expensive, flavorful ones. Finding a job could wait a day. Trying to find who he was could also wait. The whole world could wait, for all he cared. He closed his eyes and focused on the smooth feel and the slight weight of the cigarette on his lips, the flavour of the tobacco in his mouth, deep and chasing away the bitterness from the coffee, the scent of smoke, seductive and playful. All the pleasure of the world was in his hand, and in his mouth, and everything else was smoke. 

&*&*

He was going to be early for his appointment with Yumiko. He took out the apple the librarian had given him and started eating it slowly as he approached her house. When he remembered who he was, he’d have to remember to be as kind as all the people who had been kind to him. It would be wrong to do otherwise. 

The librarian had been kind to him, but so had Uncle. When he’d told him that he had met a girl, Uncle had told him to settle down with her and not come back to the park. He’d never been kicked out in a nicer way, he was certain of it. He knew, though, that Uncle would let him back in his tent when night came. 

The moment he turned around the corner he saw that someone was already at her house. Someone who didn’t look very kind. 

“Open the door, you bitch,” he shouted, kicking the door. 

“You can’t call women that.” 

“Eh?” The man turned towards him. He had really short hair, and he was dressed in a colourful shirt and tight jeans. 

Ah, that had to be Dai. “You should be respectful to women.”

Dai stopped kicking the door. “What do you care?”

“Because I had a mother once, and she taught me that women are to be respected.”

“Bullshit,” Dai snorted and tried to punch him. 

He didn’t think. His body moved away from the coming fist, and then twisted, grabbed Dai in a headlock, and brought his face down in contact with his knee. Then he let him go. 

Dai let out a long wail, like a hurt animal. “You broke my nose,” he shouted, cradling his nose, and not being able to stop the blood from running. 

“You ruined my trousers.” 

“You’re crazy, you psycho,” Dai shouted as he ran away. 

He shrugged. Who knew? Perhaps he was. He approached the door and Yumiko opened the door before he could ring the bell. 

“You’re okay. I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, hugging him for a second. “Where is Dai?”

“He’s gone for now.”

“For now?” She looked at him wide-eyed. 

He felt sorry for her. “I’m out of a job right now,” he told her. “If you want, I can keep an eye on you tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she hugged him again. “There’s the taxi,” she told him and pushed him towards the waiting car. “You really don’t mind being there for me tonight?”

“No, that is fine.”

Yumiko leaned against his shoulder. “Thank you.” She closed her eyes, sighing happily. “Thank you for scaring Dai. He was,” she shuddered.

“You should have gone to the police,” he told her in a quiet voice. 

“No,” she said just as softly. She found his hand and squeezed his fingers. “This was better.”

He doubted that. He looked outside. His jeans felt clammy where the fabric had soaked the blood, and he felt disgusting. But Yumiko felt safe. That made his discomfort worth it. 

When the taxi stopped, and Yumiko hurried inside the flat of her ‘friend’, he sat on the staircase, closed his eyes and watched all the lights that danced around him, both near and far. He’d learned to ignore them early on Monday but every now and then, he found some comfort in them. Perhaps he was crazy, as Dai had said, but the lights were pretty. He liked things that were pretty.

Yumiko came out an hour or so later. Another taxi waited for them outside. The moment they were inside Yumiko opened her purse and gave him several bills.

“What’s this?”

“A small gift for your help with Dai.”

He counted them. It wasn’t a small gift. He gave it back to her. “It’s too much.”

“No, it’s not.” She smiled a little. “That’s what I would have given Dai, anyway.”

For what? “It’s still too much,” he told her, frowning. “Do you have something to write?”

She gave him her phone. 

Making a face, he shook his head. “Paper.”

“When we go back to my flat.” She looked outside. “Tokyo at night. Isn’t it beautiful?”

He shrugged and looked out of the window as well. Lights, both real and the ones only he saw, people, modern buildings, tiny shrines. Everything moving too fast. No, he preferred his dream of the countryside, where he grew tea with Grandfather, and everything moved according to the rhythm of nature. He smiled. Perhaps, when he regained his memory, he could make his dream a reality. But he wouldn’t grow tea; no, he would grow flowers. 

Yumiko gave him a pencil and a piece of paper the moment they were inside her flat. “Do you want a beer?”

“Yes, thank you.” He looked at the blank surface. What did he really know about Yumiko’s business? Nothing, but it was a business, and business meant making profit after deducting the expenses, right? He made a line dividing the paper in two columns. He looked around. “So, accommodation,” he muttered, as he wrote that down on one side of the line. 

Yumiko sat next to him, offering him a bottle. “Eh?”

“I’m thinking.” He looked at her. Clothes, make-up, food, he wrote under the first item on his list. Oh, and she was using a taxi a lot – so, transport. What else? Other expenses, for everything he couldn’t think about. 

“What are you doing?” Yumiko laughed.

“Thinking.” What was Dai’s role in all of this? Did he help her find her ‘friends’? Networking, he wrote. Did he make her appointments? Oh, what would that be? Appointments, he shrugged. And – had he been waiting for her outside her ‘friend’s’ place, like he had just done? Protection. He couldn’t think of anything else. “There.”

“What’s this?”

“Tell me, did Dai contribute to any of these?” Ah, cold beer in a summer evening was the best. He lit a cigarette. No, cold beer and a cigarette were the best. He smiled. All was well, suddenly. 

She read the list. “Networking?”

“Did he help you meet new ‘friends’?”

“Oh, no. My old ‘friends’ usually introduce me to new ones.”

“And he’s not making your appointments either?”

“No. I told you, I am my own woman.” She smiled. “If I wanted, I could have worked for an agency but… I think Dai was trying to get me to sign up with one, but I like my independence.”

So, protection only, then. “And he never helped with any of your other expenses?” he asked, making a sweeping gesture, pointing at the flat and everything they could see. 

“No.”

“Hm. Can I ask you one more question, then?”

“Of course.” 

“How much do your ‘friends’ usually give you?” 

“It depends on how much time I spend with them, or what we do.” She smiled awkwardly. “Why are you asking me all this?”

“Humor me.”

She reached behind her and grabbed her purse from the edge of the sofa. “Hiro-san gave me twenty thousand yen for an hour, but he’s one of my easy ‘friends’,” she giggled.

“And you gave me 10000, saying that this was what you’d usually give Dai, right?”

“Yes.” Her answer ended in an almost question mark in her tone. 

“But Dai was helping you out only with… looking out for you, let’s say. He did not deserve fifty percent of your,” he couldn’t call it fee, “erm, gift.”

Yumiko stared at him as if he had a third eye suddenly growing out of his forehead. “But I managed fine.”

“You can manage better. If your ‘boyfriend’ does not contribute to any of your expenses, then what is he taking half of your hard-earned money? You should have given him ten percent, maybe fifteen, if you were feeling generous.”

“Eh…” She still looked unconvinced. 

“It’s a business, it’s not about being ‘good’ to your ‘boyfriend’. For example, let’s say that he paid for your flat, your clothes, everything, found your ‘friends’ and kept an eye on you so you were safe while meeting them, then he’d have a right to fifty, or even seventy percent of your money, because he’d also need to a make a profit.” He smiled. “It sounds kind of a shitty business, right? But he’d also have to make sure that you got enough to have an incentive to wo… meet your ‘friends’, so your ‘friends’ would probably be quite well-off.” He grinned, feeling awkward at how easily he could imagine some things. “I’m just saying.”

“And if I worked for an agency?”

“You’d probably get forty percent. Isn’t that how it goes with employers? You hire them, pay their taxes and contributions, calculate how much profit they will make your business, and adjust their pay accordingly. Erm…I think.” He frowned. He’d spent four days obsessing over food and money, and he’d thought it was because he’d woken up without a single yen in his pocket, but what if he… he felt his eyes widen. Could he be the owner of a green tea farm, and he was so obsessed with money because he needed it in order to keep his business afloat?

Yumiko finished her beer. “I feel so stupid now,” she suddenly said, looking down. “I thought I was being independent, and making my own living, instead, I was just…” She divided the money in two. “In any case, this is still for you. You really helped me out today, and you looked out for me when I met Hiro-kun, and,” she pointed at the paper, “you gave me a lot to think about. Please, take it.”

“Okay, but not as a gift. Let’s call it, a ‘consultation fee’.” 

She laughed. “Fine.”

“If I could, I would give you a receipt so you could write it off as a business expense, but… sorry, no can do right now.”

“That’s fine,” she laughed. She stood up. Pretty and smart, she thought in appreciation. “I’m going to lie down for a while. You can spend the night here, if you want. And…”

“Yes?” He froze, scared that she was about to suggest he share her bed. The idea of sex made him sick. 

“I am meeting a couple of other ‘friends’ tomorrow, starting from nine in the evening. Could you keep an eye on things? I can offer you fifteen percent of my ‘gift’,” she grinned. 

Goodness gracious, what was he doing? He shouldn’t tell her ‘yes’, but he hadn’t liked Dai’s behaviour, and he suspected he’d be back. “Alright. I’ll take seven percent, though, especially since you’ve just offered me accommodation.” He raised his beer. “And food.”

She laughed. 

“Yumiko-san?” 

“Yes?”

“Could I also use the bath?” He lifted the edge of his hair. It needed to be washed properly. 

“Of course. All my house is at your disposal.” My bed too, she thought, and blushed.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“No, thank you.” 

He shrugged and waited for her to go into her bedroom. What was he doing? He should have told her ‘no’ instead of becoming a substitute for her ‘boyfriend’…. And he should buy new clothes. He wasn’t sure how easy it would be to clean blood off his jeans, and he hated wearing the same things day after day. He needed at least one more tee shirt, and socks, and underwear, and he shouldn’t be spending his money, but… He finished his beer and stood up. He felt disgusting wearing the same things every day. Sick to the bone, he was. 

Like every other night, he washed his underwear, his socks, his tee-shirt, and the crotch area of his jeans with the soap. He also washed the area around the left knee, hoping that some of the blood stain would get out. But, unlike the previous nights, he could have a proper shower afterwards, and not just wash parts of his body. He looked at himself for a second. The bruises were purple, looking even worse than before, even though they were healing. They still felt tender when he touched them. Well, no matter. It was time for a shower, and to do his hair. 

And when he came out and found that Yumiko had made the sofa bed for him, he was so happy and relaxed that he almost cried. Instead, he lay down and fell asleep within minutes. Ah, life, what would it bring the next day?


	6. Friday

His jeans remained stubbornly stained the next morning. Disgusted, and a little depressed, he realized that the first thing he needed to do was buy new clothes. Since Yumiko was still asleep when he’d woken up, he left her a note and started his quest from a couple of second-hand stores. 

He thought it would be easy to find something, since he didn’t care much about what he’d get as long as it were cheap but, he couldn’t find anything he liked. Or rather, the only things he really liked were yukata and kimono. He liked their colours, and their patterns, and their fabrics felt so refreshing and cool to the touch. Western clothes felt constricting in comparison. But they were so expensive. Even the cheapest second-hand yukata cost more than the cheapest second-hand pair of jeans and tee-shirt and jacket together. It was depressing.

It was so depressing that he decided to hide in the library again after shopping. The day before he’d started reading a horror story by Poe, which led him to reading another, and yet another, and wanting to read more. Something about the thin, pale, languid creatures that populated Poe’s imagination appealed to him. Something about the obsession with which they pursued their vengeance or their passions held him in thrall. He wanted to read more, and so read more he did, until he had to force himself to go out and play Go.

The thin, pale, obsessive creatures could wait a little while he went to find Shindou-sensei at the park where they’d met for the first time. 

Shindou-sensei was wearing a blindingly bright yellow shirt, and his phone was ringing when he arrived. Shindou-sensei waved at him and ignored it. 

“It’s been ringing for a while now, perhaps you should answer it,” he suggested softly. 

“It’s just Akira. I bet he wants to know where we are, so he can play against you.” Shindou-sensei smiled. “He’s insatiable when it comes to Go.”

“He sounds passionate.”

“That too,” Shindou-sensei agreed with an even softer smile. He answered the phone. “Hey, Akira, what’s up?.... Ah, I see…. Yes, actually, he is here… Just a second.” He turned towards him. “It’s Akira, he wants to talk to you.”

“Ah, thank you.” He took the phone from Shindou-sensei. “Hello?”

“Oriya-san, I talked to Ogata-sensei and he would like to meet you tomorrow at noon, if you are not busy.”

Busy? He snorted. “Yes, that would be possible. Where?”

“At Ichigaya station.”

“Thank you, Touya-sensei, I will be there.”

“Thank you.”

He gave the phone back to Shindou-sensei. 

“Akira,” he whined, “what are you planning?” Whatever Touya-sensei said, made Shindou-sense break out in laughter. You’re such a softie, Akira, Shindou-sensei thought. “Ok, see you tomorrow.” He put the phone down with a gentle expression. “Ah, Akira,” he sighed. “So,” he turned towards him, “Nigiri?”

&*&*

“You know,” Shindou-sensei told him as he was gathering the white stones so they could play again, “when I first saw you, you reminded me of someone. But then I realized that… no, that would have been…” Shindou-sensei sighed deeply. 

He smiled, placing the bowl with the black stones close to him. “Shindou-sensei, if I may?”

“Yes?”

“I believe that, we come with nothing, and we leave with nothing from this world. But, even so,” he smiled again, “we leave something behind us. Some of us leave children, others leave money, others leave something immaterial, like a way of playing the guitar, or how to play a game like Go.”

Shindou-sensei froze, and his cheeks lost all colour. 

“Do you know what we all leave behind?”

“No.”

“Memories, Shindou-sensei. Our lives touch that of others, and as long as we are remembered, part of us lives on. It is good when our lives leave a positive mark, and…” He sighed. “You should talk about those you remember, Shindou-sensei. Share your memories with your loved ones, or those who’ll understand, and help them live a little longer.”

“I don’t understand,” Shindou-sensei said, still pale. He protested with his words, but not with his expression. 

“Whom did I remind you, Shindou-sensei? And why won’t you talk about them?”

Shindou-sensei’s eyes hardened. “That is none of your business.”

“No, it is not,” he agreed, keeping his tone gentle. “I’m not the one who will understand your memories, after all, nor a loved one. But, as someone who is lost, I feel a little sad for whomever you’ve lost.”

“Eh?”Shindou-sensei frowned, looking younger than he was. 

“Your lost loved one, they would like to be commemorated. They would like to be a pleasant memory, one that you are not afraid of sharing, because they touched your life and made a positive difference in it.” He smiled. “I heard once, don’t ask how I know or why I remember this, that there are people in this world that pray for all of us. They pray for those they know, and those they don’t. They pray for the living, and they pray for the dead. Isn’t that a lovely concept? That, someone, somewhere, thinks of you? And if they do, isn’t it even better when someone you know thinks of you?”

Shindou-sensei stared at him. I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t. 

“Forgive me. I’ve been thinking about the importance of memory a lot these days,” he grinned. 

“You really think that you can share everything with those you love?”

“Perhaps not, but there is always someone who can and will understand what you share. I know that.”

“How?” he asked peevishly. “You don’t even know who you are,” he muttered. 

“That is true,” he laughed. “But the law of probabilities says so. Do you know that Japan still has one of the highest percentages of people believing in ghosts? And that almost 45% of people in the US believe in them too? So, if you can find someone believing in ghosts in practically every block of flats in Tokyo, you will find someone to understand and share in whatever else you may believe.”

“And do you believe in ghosts, Oriya-san?”

“I don’t know. What informs belief? Experience, or faith?”

Shindou-sensei looked at him in disgust. “It was a simple question.”

“I cannot give you a simple answer at the moment. I have a very small frame of reference for answering you,” he smiled.

“Just… just play,” Shindou-sensei grumbled. 

He grinned. “As you wish.”

But then, after his game with Shindou-sensei was finished, even though he wanted nothing but to find Uncle and tell him that he loved books, and all the horrible stories they told, he went to check up on Yumiko. He found her idiot ex-boyfriend loitering outside her door again with two other guys, beat them up, and then escorted her as she went to meet another of her ‘friends’.

Another pair of jeans ruined, damn it.


	7. Saturday

Ogata-sensei was already at the exit of the station when he arrived, looking as stylish as a model in a light tan suit and a white shirt. No one would ever believe that was a professional Go player if they saw him on the street. Strangely enough, Ogata-sensei looked at him appreciatively when he approached. 

New clothes? “I was thinking we should have lunch first,” he said instead of commenting on his outfit, despite his curiosity. 

“Alright,” he said, hoping that Ogata-sensei would remember that he was still without a job. He suspected, though, that if things continued the way they did with Yumiko, he’d soon have one; one he didn’t really want. 

Ogata-sensei led him to a casual restaurant where the menu was both in Japanese and Spanish. “I just felt like having paella; I hope you don’t mind my choice of place.”

“Not at all.” He had no idea if he liked Spanish food, after all. He waited until they were seated. 

“The food is good for its price,” Ogata-sensei told him, still not telling him what he wanted to tell him. 

He checked the menu. The food was relatively cheap. “Thank you.” He chose a menu at random and waited. He was getting tired of waiting. “Ogata-sensei,” he smiled, “you must be a busy man. Surely you didn’t ask me here just for the pleasure of my company.”

Ogata-sensei grinned. His eyes shone behind his glasses. “Are you sure about that?” he asked in a tone that bordered between teasing and flirtatious.

He froze. Not Ogata-sensei too. Yes, it had to be him who was attracting perverts. Even at the metro, on a not so busy Saturday, he ended up being groped again. It wasn’t funny. 

Ogata-sensei laughed. “Oriya-san, should I ask what are you thinking?” He even winked at him. 

“No.” 

His expression made Ogata-sensei’s turn serious. “I’m sorry, sometimes I can’t help myself. Oriya-san, have you heard of shidougo?”

He frowned. Teaching game?

“Would you play a game with me after lunch?”

“Why?”

“Humour me.”

He wanted to protest that he was not the one who was professional, but Ogata-sensei sounded like a man who wasn’t used to hearing ‘no’ for an answer. It reminded him of someone for a split second, but the memory was gone just as quickly as it arrived. “Fine, I will. Ah, I wonder if that is our food.”

Sensei gave him a tiny smile. Then his expression grew serious again. “I…” He stopped.

“Yes?”

“If you had your papers, life would be a lot easier, Oriya-san,” he said, instead of telling him that he’d talked to Touya-sensei and that he was worried about him.

He appreciated that – and he was still touched that people who didn’t know him could be so concerned. “Yes, you are right.” He was also getting a bit worried himself, if he were honest. He hadn’t had any new memories all Friday. Perhaps he would never remember who he was. He couldn’t stay in that limbo forever. “I will go to the police on Monday if my memory is not back by then.”

“That sounds like a plan. And if your memory is back?”

“Then, home, I guess.”

“And that is a better plan,” Ogata-sensei smiled. “I hope you will keep in touch when that happens.” There was honesty in his tone. “I would like to keep playing against you.”

“But you don’t play against someone at Go, you play with them,” he grinned. “Is that a difference in philosophy?”

“Is that how you see the Game?”

He nodded. “A dance, between two partners. Sometimes one leads, sometimes the other.”

“And winning?”

He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t care about winning. I care about beauty.” 

“I like to win,” Ogata-sensei told him with a fierce expression. 

“Why?”

“Well… I could say that it is because for a player at my level, winning is accompanied by a prize. A big part of my income comes from winning titles, Oriya-san.”

He frowned. Ogata-sensei was _that_ good? What was he doing playing with him, then? He was just an amateur. 

“But that’s not the whole truth.”

He leaned forward, waiting to hear the whole truth. 

“I would like to hold all seven major titles, Oriya-san. Only a few people have accomplished that, and…” Ogata-sensei smiled. “That’s my ambition.”

“It sounds like a goal worth having. Do you hold any titles now, Ogata-sensei?”

Ogata-sensei looked at him curiously, and then he grinned. “Yes, but not enough. I hold the Judan and Gosei titles at the moment.” His expression darkened. “And I’m going after the Hon’inbo title again this year, but I suspect that the old goat will find another way to cheat me of it.”

“Surely people can’t cheat at Go at that level,” he gasped. 

“Well, he’s not really cheating, but he likes mind games,” Ogata-sensei muttered, and his expression turned to frighteningly hateful. “Stubborn old man,” he growled. He couldn’t hide his grin in time, and Ogata-sensei turned his angry stare at him. “There’s nothing funny about that.”

“Ogata-sensei, I was taught Go by stubborn old men, and they only taught me good things, like tenacity and perseverance.”

“And that you’ll get candy when you win,” Ogata-sensei smiled.

“That too.” He smiled back. “I’d rather have candy than titles any day.” Or cigarettes, if he were honest. 

“That’s why you never became a pro.” Ogata-sensei studied him. “I played in several tournaments and events around Japan, but I never played against you. Why are you hiding?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I will be able to answer that when I know my identity.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” Ogata-sensei said with a nod. “Ah, and I think that is our food.”

His stomach applauded the timing with a grumble. “Erm…” 

“I’m hungry too,” Ogata-sensei told him as if he were sharing a secret. “Why did you think I wanted to meet you here?”

He smiled, feeling less embarrassed. Ogata-sensei made him feel at ease. If he ever remembered who he was, he’d keep in touch with him. 

&*&*

He still didn’t have an opinion about Spanish food after lunch, but he was impressed when Ogata-sensei led him to the Tokyo Go Association and saw how everyone knew him. He wondered what kind of titles were Judan and Gosei. He wondered why his memory was so selective; he could play Go, but not remember the titles? But, that was a question for another time. This was the time for following Ogata-sensei into a room, and suppressing his impulse to run. 

“Are you okay?” Ogata-sensei asked him after he closed the door and turned towards him. 

What did his expression reveal? Or was it something else? He did feel cold. “I’m fine. I just don’t like closed spaces.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t have a problem at the restaurant.”

“Small, closed spaces,” he clarified. Spaces where someone could reach out and touch him. “I’m fine,” he lied. He was being irrational; there were people behind the door, and Ogata-sensei was not interested in him sexually. “Let’s play,” he said as he sat in front of the goban. It was a beautiful table, and when he touched it, he felt the warmth of the wood. “Let’s play,” he said more softly, still touching the surface of the board, and smiling genuinely at Ogata-sensei. 

Ogata-sensei smiled back at him. “Yes, let’s,” he said quietly, taking his seat. “As we play, can you talk me through your game?”

“Yes, of course.” 

Ogata-sensei suddenly took out a packet of gummy candies. “You can have this if you win.”

“Peach,” he grinned. “Sensei, you are spoiling me.”

“You have to win first,” Ogata-sensei laughed. 

“I will give it my best. Nigiri?”

&*&*

He reached for the packet. “I can have it now, Sensei, can’t I?”

“Seriously,” Ogata-sensei grinned, “you really go all out for candy.”

“Not any candy. Peach candy. Second best flavour after green tea, Sensei.” He licked his lips as he took the packet, and offered it back to Ogata-sensei the moment he opened it. 

Ogata-sensei smiled as he took a candy and unwrapped it. “Would you like to play another game?” 

“What time is it?”

“It’s almost five.”

Ah. Yumiko expected him at seven. “I’m afraid I am expected elsewhere at seven, and it will take me almost an hour to get there, so….” But a game, another game… “If we start a game now, can we continue it later?”

“Of course.”

“Great,” he sighed with relief. He picked up the bowl with the black stones. 

“Oriya-san,” Ogata-sensei cut him off before he could put down the first stone. 

“Yes.”

He took out his wallet and put down twenty thousand yen. 

“What is that? We’re playing for money now?” He felt himself go cold. That was more than all the money he possessed at that moment. He shouldn’t have bought new clothes. 

Ogata-sensei looked at him as if he were stupid. “Your fee, Oriya-san.”

“Fee? For what?”

“For teaching me.”

“I did no such…”

Ogata-sensei’s expression shut him up. “You just played a teaching game with me, and that’s what I charge my students.” 

“But…”

Ogata-sensei glared at him. “Who’s the professional here, you or me?” He pushed the money towards him. “I would like to propose a deal to you, Oriya-san. Would you play a teaching game with me twice a week?”

“But… you said it, I’m not a pro. How…”

“I don’t care about that. You are strong, and I want to learn from you.”

“This is not charity, is it?” He didn’t mind people feeding him and giving him cigarettes, but this was too much. 

Ogata-sensei snorted. “I don’t do ‘charity’, Oriya-san,” even when the charity case looks like you. “Or is this not enough?” he asked, reaching for his wallet again. 

He took the money before Ogata-sensei added more to it. “No, that is … enough, I guess.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he smiled slowly. “Now, you were about to play. Where would you start?”

Ah. “Here.” He put down a stone. 

&*&*

His enjoyment of the day that far vanished the moment he turned the corner and entered the street leading to Yumiko’s house. Dai was there again. Only this time he was accompanied by three guys in black suits, and there was a black limousine parked behind him. For fuck’s sake, all he wanted was to pretend that he was just accompanying Yumiko to see a friend, and figure out how to tell her that he couldn’t shadow her all the time. He approached Dai and his ‘friends’. “You are here for another lesson on how to treat women?”

“No, I’m here to give you a lesson on not messing with me.”

“Really?” He lifted his chin, pointing at Dai’s face, at his bruised eye and the splint over his nose. “Yes, it seems like I need one,” he snorted. Dai’s ‘friends’ took a step forward, thinking that they could circle him. He stood still. His body remembered how to fight, so he’d trust in his body when the attack came. 

The car door opened and a man dressed in the obligatory black suit, although one much more expensive than that of his thugs, came out. He was in his early thirties, and would have been a handsome man, if he didn’t look like he’d just swallowed a lemon. “Kokakurou,” he shouted, “What are you doing here?”

He bit back a sigh. People kept confusing him with others. He must have had the most common facial features in Japan. He shrugged. “Came to see my friend. What are you doing here?”

“Your friend?” He glared at him. “And then you accused me of stealing your supply, you hypocritical sly fox.”

He had no idea what this crazy yakuza was talking about, but, he’d be damned if he let it show. “One must expand, as you would agree.”

The man looked disgusted. “Shopping outside one’s turf is one thing; expanding another. Do you really want to take me on here, Kokakurou?” 

He shook his head and raised his hands in a gesture meant to show how he was unarmed and harmless. “No, I just want him,” he pointed towards Dai, “to stop bothering my friend.”

“Hm… and if he stops bothering her, you will let me have whomever I want when I’m next in your turf? A bitch for a bitch?”

“She’s not a bitch, you insolent womanizer,” he growled. “But, yes, you can have first choice when you’re next in my turf.”

The man approached him and offered him his hand. “You will shake on it?”

He took the man’s hand and shook it firmly. “Promise.”

The man smirked. “Deal.” He clicked his fingers and his men withdrew. 

“But, Boss,” Dai whined, “you promised me that you’d…”

At a sharp gesture from the man, one of his thugs hit Dai in the stomach. Dai fell on the ground, moaning. “You must keep your mouth shut in front of your betters, you worm. And if you dare approach this bitch, I’ll cut off your balls. She’s his now,” he said, pointing at him. 

“Thank you,” he bowed. 

“As you can see, I am a reasonable man. Next time you’re here, give me a call, instead of pulling this shit,” the man told him. 

“I do not like causing trouble any more than you do.”

The man looked at him strangely. “Funny, we had a discussion without almost no insults.” He shook his head. “Remember our deal.” He grinned. “The next meeting is in a month, right? I can’t wait.” One of his men opened the door to the limo, and he stepped inside. The men went inside after him.

Dai looked up at him with hatred. 

“You should go to the hospital again, Dai-kun,” he grinned. “It’s only three blocks from here, isn’t it? Or do you need my help? I’m happy to break a few more of your bones and call an ambulance to collect you.”

Dai spat on the ground. “I will get you, asshole,” he said, glaring at him as he pulled himself up. 

“You can try.”

Dai hobbled away, cursing under his breath. 

When he reached the door, Yumiko opened it before he had a chance to ring the bell. “What happened?” she asked him, looking confused and still scared. “Will he come back again?”

“No.” He started laughing. “You’re mine now.” What a joke that was. 

Yumiko smiled at him. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

“I’m not going to be your next boyfriend, Yumiko.” Or her pimp. He pushed her inside the flat and closed the door behind them. “You want to be your own woman, right? This is your chance. Dai and his boss will leave you alone from now on.”

“Because they think I’m yours.”

He nodded, grinning. “People have confused me with a Go player and a restaurant owner so far, so why not a pimp?” He started laughing. “Ah, Yumiko, you need to get a better job,” he sighed as he stopped. 

“Well, that’s not happening now,” she smiled. “My ‘friend’ is expecting me. Will you come with me?”

“Why not?” It wasn’t like he had anything else to do, or anywhere else to be. 

Yumiko put on her shoes and looked up at him sweetly when she was done. My pimp prince, she thought. 

Yes, Go teacher by day, pimp by night. He hoped he would regain his memories soon, because this new life of his was turning swiftly from the horrible, past the strange, into the utterly ridiculous.


	8. Sunday

He woke up in Yumiko’s sofa bed, feeling lazy. Laziness wouldn’t help him get anywhere, though. He got up, got dressed, and left her a note that he was going out. He wasn’t sure if he would come back, though. 

The logical thing would be to go find some work. Perhaps go at the park where the festival was, and ask if they needed someone to clean up. What he wanted, though, was to go to the library and read. Or go to a park and sit in a shade. 

Logic won out, but once he had secured a post cleaning after eleven, when the festival would end, he went to the library, looking for more horror stories. Reading about them was oddly comforting, and distracting him from thinking that every fucking time he took the metro he got groped. There were worse horrors out there, the stories whispered to him, worse than being allergic to being touched, because what else could be causing him to break out in hives each time someone felt him up? There were worse monsters than the one who’d attacked him, monsters that were not satisfied with rape but they also killed in horrible ways. He was alive, the books reminded him. He would recover, they promised. If he couldn’t go back home, he’d make a new one, they vowed. 

He liked books. They were beautiful. 

&*&*

He approached the entrance of the hotel with some trepidation. He was not dressed for that place. They would kick him out the moment they saw him. They might even call the police. Yet, he kept walking, driven on by a need to get inside that he couldn’t understand, but had to obey. He’d even left his post at the park without waiting to be paid, so urgent the need to be there was. 

The automatic doors opened noiselessly. He found himself in a large lobby, sparse in furniture and people. A tall man in a white suit approached him. Despite his white hair, he was young. Despite his being dressed like a serious businessman, his smile was wicked and teasing. His eyes were shining behind his glasses with amusement. 

“Congratulations. You won. How do you feel?” the man in the white suit asked him pleasantly. 

A white light burst behind his eyes and a loud noise, like that of an explosion, accompanied by screaming, filled his head. Everything slowed down and there were a few moments that a continuous ringing in his ears smothered all sounds, and what he could see was behind a cloud. When he could finally see and the noises stopped, he realized he was frozen to the spot, and … 

“Well?” Muraki asked him with a grin. “Happy?”

Oriya punched him on the face. “Asshole.”

Muraki blinked stupidly at him, cradling his cheek. “That hurt.”

Oriya grabbed the idiot’s arm and dragged him to the reception. “Book me a room, Muraki. Now.”

The receptionist pretended to look at her computer. A moment later a guy in a suit approached them. “Sir, come with me,” he told Oriya politely but firmly. 

Oriya ignored him and twisted Muraki’s arm. “I want my things, and I want a room.”

“Ouch,” Muraki protested. “My love has a violent streak,” he smiled at the security guard. “Your assistance is not required.” Then he smiled at the receptionist. “I would like a room.”

“Of course,” she replied as professionally indifferent as she could. She checked the computer. “We have several. Would you prefer a park room with a view or…”

“I would like a suite,” he cut her off. 

“Of course.”

Muraki smiled at him. “Can you stop crushing my bones with your hand now, dearest?”

Oriya let him go. “Have my things brought to my room, Muraki. I am not coming back to your place.”

Muraki kept smiling. “As you wish.”

“Can I have an ID, please? And a credit card?”

Muraki took out his wallet and gave them to her. 

“Would you like to pay now or later?”

“Now,” Oriya growled. 

“Now,” Muraki nodded. “Thank you.”

The receptionist handed the invoice to Muraki. When he signed it, she handed him the receipt. 

“Check out is at noon,” she said as she handed Muraki the card key. 

Muraki handed it to him. “Thank you, we’ll figure the rest ourselves. Now, Oriya, are you happy?” he asked as if he cared. The bastard. 

Oriya took the key, resisted the urge to punch Muraki in the face again and strode to the elevator, ignoring Muraki. He had nothing to say to him. Except maybe one thing. He turned around. “You are such an asshole,” he shouted at him. 

Muraki was still smiling pleasantly. “And you are as wonderfully inappropriate as always.” 

“Fuck you,” Oriya growled, turning away from him again. No, he would not engage in a discussion with the idiot. He was through with him. He was. He really was. He meant it. 

The moment he stepped inside the elevator he started shivering. He was an idiot, and Muraki was an asshole. That was all there was to it. And he was through with him. He was.   
He got out of the elevator, still trembling with anger, stepped into the room, toed his shoes and socks off and went straight to bed. He was tired. And through with him. 

&*&*

A few hours later Oriya woke up. He checked the time. Four thirty-three. He picked up the phone and called home.

“Kokakurou here.”

He could almost cry at how normal Rika sounded, despite the late hour. “Rika-san,” he smiled. “Is Muraki there?”

“No, Young Master.” 

“Good. Make a note that is he is barred from the premises from now on. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

“As you wish, Mibu-sama. Good night.”

Yes, he was through with him. He put the phone down and went back to sleep.


	9. Monday

When he woke up again the sun was up. And he was still lying over the covers, in the clothes he’d basically worn for three days straight. He called reception. “Has anyone made a delivery for me?”

“Yes, Mibu-san, we have your suitcases here and we can have them sent up immediately.”

“Thank you.” He got up, started the water running in the bathtub and waited for the porter to bring up his stuff. Fuck that Muraki; who did he think he was?

A few moments later, there was a knock. He almost tripped in his haste to get to the door, and grabbed a handful of bills to tip him without even counting them. Gods, his clothes, he could finally dress in his clothes. His nice, clean clothes. After a bath; a proper, long bath.

He sighed deeply, showering himself as the tub got filled. Muraki had told him he’d won the bet, but he really hadn’t. He much preferred having to not having; just because he could manage without anything, did not mean that he would choose that life. Now that he remembered everything, he knew he’d lost. Not the bet against Muraki, but against himself. 

The thing he liked the most about having, he sighed again, was not worrying about life’s basic necessities and having access to life’s little pleasures. He smiled. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted? Why did he have to prove to himself he was different from others? He wouldn’t think about that now. He was clean, the tub was full, and he’d soak in it until he felt like getting out. 

Sliding into the hot water was like sliding into heaven. He closed his eyes, stretched his legs as far as he could (when he’d go home, he’d install a tub so big he would be able to lie in it), and crossed his arms over his chest. Heaven, this was it. He let out another sigh, and started to make a list of what he had to do. 

His train ticket was for two twenty, so that he would be back home in time for evening service. Well, they could forget about that. He wasn’t doing it. He even had some good arguments against it, he grinned. That settled, he turned his thoughts to what else he had to do while in Tokyo. See Uncle and Yumiko. He couldn’t leave them like that, not when they had been so kind to him. Cancel his appointment with Ogata-sensei. Damn, he would have liked to play one more game against the man before going home. Be at the station in time for his train. Not think about Muraki until then. Not think about Muraki until later. Not think about Muraki. 

He had no idea what time it was, and had several things to do. Ah, but he could stay in the tub for five more minutes. This was so soothing. Hot water against his skin, and then he’d have a smoke. Life’s little pleasures. He liked having them. 

&*&*

Uncle whistled when he saw him. “You clean up really well, son.”

Oriya smiled. He felt well in his own clothes. That he looked well was the cherry on top of the cake. “Thanks.”

“So, no farm, was I right?” Uncle asked him with a soft smile as he sat down on a bench. 

Oriya sat next to him. “No farm, you were right.” He grinned. “And you were right about me not growing up in one too. I was educated in a boarding school, and now I manage one of my family’s businesses, a restaurant. Speaking of which…”

“Yes?”

“I would like to repay your kindness, Uncle. Would you like to stay with me at Kyoto?”

Uncle stared at him. 

“My house is big, and there is plenty of space for an extra person. It is also a restaurant, so we always have extra food.” He would donate any left-overs to a local homeless shelter, he decided suddenly. “If you want to sit in the garden and do nothing, no one will bother you. If you want to help around the house, your help would be welcome. If you want to look for another job, you’ll have a place to stay while looking.” He smiled. “There is no catch, Uncle. If you want, my house is your house.”

Uncle kept staring at him. “You mean that,” he finally said. 

Oriya nodded. He took out several bills from his wallet, and his card. “My train leaves at two twenty-three.” He handed Uncle the money. “It would be nice if you could join me, but you probably have things to do today. So…”

“What’s this?”

“Money for the ticket, if you decide to come stay with me. And my card. Any taxi driver will find the address.” He closed Uncle’s hands around the bills. “Promise me you’ll think about it at least.”

Uncle nodded. He suddenly stood up and turned away. “You’ll miss your train if you linger,” he said, even though he knew that there was plenty of time for getting to the station, and his voice was rough. 

“Yes, you are right,” Oriya said, accepting the lie. He bowed deeply, even though Uncle couldn’t see him. “Thank you for your kindness. I will not forget it.”

“Get out of here,” Uncle said even more gruffly. “Making me cry at my age,” he muttered, probably not intending to be heard. 

Oriya smiled. One was never too old to cry. He considered himself an adult, and yet he’d cried a lot this week, hadn’t he? “Take care of yourself, Uncle.” He smiled. For some reason, he didn’t think Uncle would join him, but, if he did, his house would welcome him. It was time to see Yumiko. Should he also ask her to join him?

&*&*

Yumiko answered the door bell with a yawn. “Wh… Oh, it’s you,” she said and hugged him. “I thought you’d left for good.”

He shrugged, not knowing how to answer her. 

Yumiko took a step back and looked at him. “Wow, you are the first person I see wearing a kimono outside a shrine in New year’s.”

“Yes, people tell me that. Will you let me in?”

She nodded and pulled him inside. “So, what did you do yesterday? And what’s up with the clothes? That’s silk, right? I thought you were broke.” 

“Yesterday? I went to the library, and then…” He sighed. “I hadn’t been that honest with you, Yumiko. I wasn’t just broke. When that asshole raped me, he hit my head and I lost my memories for a few days. Last night I remembered who I was, so I went back to my hotel and picked my stuff.”

She looked at him curiously. “So, you are leaving for good now?”

“Yes.” He smiled at her. “Will you be okay on your own?”

“I think so. Dai didn’t show up last night, so that’s good, right?”

“Yes, it seems like it.” He smiled. Gods, he’d feel like a bastard for the rest of his life if he didn’t ask her, and he didn’t even know why. “Yumiko, if you would like, you could come with me to Kyoto. Dai will never bother you there.” If he did, Oriya would send him to the hospital for a long, long time, but he didn’t tell her that. 

“Kyoto?” She snorted. “I have a life here. Or,” she batted her eyelashes, “Would you be my boyfriend?”

He laughed. “I’m married to my work, Yumiko. No time for girlfriends.” Or boyfriends, but he wouldn’t think of that. Not at that moment.

“Pity. You are a handsome man; you should find yourself a sweetheart, Oriya.”

He smiled sighing. “People tell me that too, Yumiko, but…” He stood up. “I need to go back to the hotel, pick up my things and go to the station.” He took out his card and gave it to her. “If you ever get in trouble with anyone over anything, give me a call.”

“But you’ll be in Kyoto, how can you help from there?”

“I have my ways. Take care, Yumiko.”

“You too, Oriya. Bye.”

When he was outside her house, he closed his eyes for a second, turning his head up so he could soak up the heat of the sun. “Fuck,” he suddenly shouted. He’d been without sunscreen for a week. He looked at his arms. Yes, he’d started to get a tan. Oh, Tami-san would hate that. 

&*&*

Only when he was in the train he finally allowed himself to think of his asshole of a friend. How had Muraki done that to him? Managing without basic necessities or the good stuff in life was what the bet was about, so he didn’t care about that, but… how could he let him think he’d been raped for a whole week? 

No, Muraki had raped him. He had never agreed to have sex with Muraki under a spell, and just because they … He ran to the toilet, locked himself inside and fought back the nausea. He succeeded for a few moments, then his stomach decided that he didn’t agree with his mind, and he started throwing up. 

That fucking asshole. Losing him to that fire at the lab a few years ago, had made Oriya realise how much he loved the fucking idiot, and how much he loved Ukyou too. Sex without love lost all meaning for him, and he’d spent most of his time since that fire being deliberately celibate – except for when Muraki visited and, for what? For Muraki to think that he had free access to his body as if he were a thing? A toy? A doll? 

How could Muraki do that to him? Was that how little he valued their friendship, and Oriya himself? And how he had been so blind, thinking that there was still something of the man he’d met and loved for most of his life in current Muraki? 

He cleaned the toilet bowl as much as he could, washed himself and went back to his seat, where he wrapped himself under a blanket, and closed his eyes. How could Muraki do that to him? If he had asked, Oriya would have agreed to it. Fuck him under a spell? Yes. Fuck him while unconscious? Yes. Fuck him and hurt him? Yes, yes, yes. Anything Muraki wanted, he’d do, because he loved the idiot. So, how could Muraki rape him when he could have him anyway?

He’d thought he knew and understood Muraki better than any other person, but he was wrong. So wrong. He was the idiot, not Muraki. Muraki was himself, a selfish, egotistical bastard who treated the world as his personal amusement park, and people as his toys, or maybe tools. Oriya was the idiot, for thinking that he was one of the few that Muraki actually recognized as human beings and not his tools. 

What a fool he was. What an idiot. 

When they arrived at Kyoto, he realized he’d spent almost three hours thinking that he was an idiot. Time well-spent, if he’d finally learned his lesson. 

&*&*

Just as he’d suspected Tami-san did not appreciate his tan at all. Her voice was disproportionate to her stature, Oriya always thought, and this time was no exception. “You look like you were out in the fields all day, picking vegetables,” she shouted. “How will you perform tonight looking like a common worker instead of a dignified geiko?”

“Ah, well, about that,” he started, keeping his voice quiet. 

“What?” she screamed. 

“I would rather not perform this week. My vacation was really exhausting, and I can’t…”

She hit him before he could finish. “You just arrived back, and you’re shirking your duties already?”

“I’m not shirking them. I was away for a whole week. I want to check all the expenses, and find out where we are with the suppliers, and such things, instead of performing.”

 

Tami-san glared at him. 

“Besides,” he raised his sleeve and let her see how his arm was still covered in hives. “My vacation proved more stressful than I expected. If I have to perform for our esteemed customers like this, they will not think me a dignified geiko, but a disfigured parody of one.”

“You weren’t like that as a child,” she sighed. “What happened to you, that you have so many allergies?”

He didn’t have allergies, he had psychosomatic disorders, and working at a place he hated had happened to him. He didn’t say it, of course. “I’ll be in my room, Tami-san, working. Cancel my performances for this week,” he tried again, projecting a commanding air. 

“I will do no such thing,” she screeched. “People already say you are capricious. You must behave like a responsible adult, Young Master, not like a spoilt child. And your Father will hear of this.”

Knowing that she reported to Father all his misbehaviors did not make him feel like much of an adult, but if she couldn’t understand it, he wouldn’t point it out. If he pouted at that moment, he’d only make her say that he was childish, so he didn’t. He nodded. “Yes, I know my duties.”

“Besides,” she said with a soft smile, “isn’t it almost time for the Doctor’s annual visit? Behave now, and I’ll make sure you have enough time to enjoy yourself with your friend.”

He froze. “I banned him from entering. Or didn’t Rika tell you?”

“She did, but I couldn’t believe it.” She sat down, looking at him in shock. “You really banned the Doctor from entering?”

“Yes.” He shuddered. He’d done it, he’d finally done it, and he’d be free from him. “I need to get ready, Tami-san. If you’ll excuse me,” he bowed a little and left her office. He’d done it. He would be free of Muraki. 

He glanced at the cherry tree as he walked into his room. It was blooming. That sight used to fill him with such joy. It meant Muraki was at Kyoto. Now all it did was… Oriya stumbled and fell on the floor, suddenly overwhelmed by what his mind had been avoiding thinking in the last hours. 

Muraki’s magic was too powerful for him. He’d brought Oriya under his spell so easily in Tokyo; Oriya hadn’t even resisted, even though his own magic was strong. If Muraki wanted to come into his house, he could do it. He could treat Oriya like his doll, and his plaything, and he could rape him again, and he could do it without any problems. 

Oriya stayed where he was, staring at the cherry tree. The house had protected him once. Would it protect him again, if Muraki tried to attack him there? Or would he need to strike at Muraki, like he’d done that time? Could he even do that? Raise his weapon against the idiot?

Muraki was Muraki, after all… He couldn’t be angry at him anymore than he could be angry at his cat for clawing at him when he wanted to pet her without her permission. No, it was him who was the idiot, wasn’t it? That wasn’t quite right, though, was it? Muraki had touched him without his permission, so according to his own metaphor, he had a right to be angry at him. 

Gods, he was confused, and he was confusing himself, and he still needed to prepare for the evening. Sighing, he got up and went to his room. He didn’t want to think about anything anymore. He couldn’t remember whom he was supposed to entertain that night, but he wished it was one of the idiots who wanted him. They always tried to get him drunk. Being drunk meant no thinking, and he needed that so badly.

&*&*

All dressed up, demurely covering his chest so as not to show any of the bruises, he opened the door to the dining room softly. “Sensei,” he smiled politely. Tanaka smiled at him. The man was particularly well-dressed that night, and his perfume was maddening. Oriya denied himself the pleasure of taking a deep breath. “I hope you are enjoying your stay,” he said with a smile. 

Tanaka nodded, tongue-tied. The original far surpasses the copy, he thought, making Oriya snort for a second, before remembering himself. 

Oriya played the usual songs, watched the maiko ply him with drinks, and the geiko engage him in polite conversation, and spent the time wondering if Tanaka would make a move or not. He almost hoped he would. 

“Young Master,” Tanaka suddenly asked him directly the moment the women left.

“Yes, Sensei?”

“There is no need for other entertainment tonight.” 

“As Sensei wishes,” he smiled and poured more sake in Tanaka’s cup. 

Tanaka finished it in one gulp, and then put his hand on Oriya’s as he started pouring him another. “Please, no more.”

“Of course.” He put down the bottle and waited. 

“Something strange happened to me in Tokyo,” Tanaka said quietly. “I met someone who looked like you.” He smiled, running his hand at the back of his head, betraying his awkwardness. “Of course he could not compare to you, but…”

Oriya almost snorted again. “But?” he prodded him gently when he realized that Tanaka wouldn’t continue. 

“It was easier talking to him than you,” Tanaka grinned, still awkward-looking. “He suggested that I should be honest with myself and…” He looked at Oriya with a hopeful expression. “Young Master, Oriya, how do you feel about classical music?”

“Classical music? I don’t know. Does Sensei like classical music?”

Tanaka nodded. “There is a concert next week. Beethoven. Would you like to join me?”

Oriya studied him. Tanaka was clever, established, rich, powerful. He was not ugly; he wasn’t even that old, just ten years older than him. Most importantly, even though he wanted him, his desire did not make Oriya stressed, and break out in hives. Some part of him liked Tanaka back, obviously. Yes, all things considered, Tanaka would be a good patron for him. And what better way than taking a patron to show Muraki that they were through? He made up his mind. “That would be nice,” he smiled. “But…”

“Yes?”

Oriya lowered his head and looked at him from under his lashes. Shy, clueless, curious. Perfect fucking geisha, pretending not to notice the obvious. “What does Sensei want from me?”

Tanaka looked at his lips. His hand slid from the table to Oriya’s knee, and squeezed. “Can’t you guess?”

“I can,” he whispered, and leaned forward, studying the way Tanaka’s lips opened in anticipation. His heart beat faster in his chest. Would he? Could he? Yes, he was free of Muraki, wasn’t he? He would do what he wanted, and what he wanted, was Tanaka. He touched his lips to Tanaka’s in a kiss that lasted for less than a second, and then he pulled back. 

Tanaka leaned forward, as if pulled by an invisible string. “Oriya,” he whispered, half-closing his eyes.

“Sensei,” he whispered, pushing him away. “If you insist…”

“Yes? Yes, I do.”

“Then you must ask permission from my Father.”

Tanaka fell back, and his eyes and mouth opened comically. “What?”

Oriya smiled at him patiently, as if he wasn’t tempted to laugh at the picture that Tanaka had made by accident. “I know it sounds weird, and it is old-fashioned, but I’m no different from other geiko still living in the house of their mother. You cannot have an affair with me without Father’s permission.”

Tanaka started laughing. Oriya kept staring at him until he stopped. “You mean that.”

Oriya nodded. “If you weren’t an esteemed customer, it would have been different. Our affair would have been tolerated. Yet, you are our esteemed customer. If I were to favour you above others, it would be wrong – unless Father allowed it.”

Tanaka sat up. “I see.” He didn’t, not really. “I will ask your Father’s permission, then.” He smiled, full of hope. “Could I have a kiss before I leave, Oriya?” 

Oriya leaned forward, smiling. “You could. But, can you?”

Tanaka laughed again. Oriya could get used to the sound, he was certain of that. He let Tanaka give him another brief kiss on the lips and pulled away again. Oriya knew he was being a tease, but he had to train Tanaka to respond to him, and follow his lead. Tanaka would be his patron, but Oriya would pull his strings.


	10. Tuesday

“Welcome to Kokakurou,” he smiled at Ogata-sensei. “I’m sorry for making you come all the way to Kyoto, but I hope the company and the entertainment will make up for it.”  
Ogata-sensei studied him. Fucking hell, he thought. No, no matter how tempting it would be, it would never do to go between two crazy people in love. 

He wasn’t sure what Ogata-sensei meant by that, so he ignored it completely. “Please, come in.”

“These clothes suit you much better, Oriya-san.”

“Thank you.” Oriya took out a packet of grape gummy candies. “And, look, I even have a prize for you, if you win.”

Ogata-sensei started laughing as he took out a packet of green tea caramels. “Me too.”

“Great, now we can both play for candies,” he smiled. And after he repaid Ogata-sensei’s loan, they would never play for money again. It would be either for candies or they wouldn’t play at all, and he knew that Ogata-sensei would agree to his term. “Would you like some tea before the game?”

“Yes, please. You also promised dinner?”

“Yes. And you still want me to play a teaching game with you? I am nothing but an amateur.”

“Let’s not start this discussion again, Oriya-san.” He cleaned his mouth and hands outside the teahouse. 

Oriya went at the side entrance, smiling when he and Ogata-sensei entered at the same time. “We’re making a good start on our game.”

“Indeed. I really need all the help I can get against that selfish old geezer,” he sighed. 

“Ogata-sensei,” he protested, “I told you before, I was taught by such old men. Do not insult them in my presence.” His smile widened. “Besides, if the old man you are referring to is Kuwabara Hon’inbo, then I will be really cross with you.”

“Really?” he smirked. 

“Yes. He’s the Uncle who kept teaching me Go after Grandfather passed away. Well, the one who played most with me. Oh, no,” he gasped. “You didn’t tell him I was in Tokyo, did you?”

“No.”

“Good, please don’t. He’ll be so disappointed if he hears I was there, and didn’t visit him.”

Ogata-sensei snorted. I doubt he’s capable of feelings, he thought. “Don’t worry, I will keep our meetings a secret. But,” he leaned forward, his tone almost flirtatious, “would you teach me some of his secrets? Maybe his favourite opening? Or middle game?”

“Ogata-sensei,” he gasped. “How can you ask that?”

“At our level, we don’t cheat. We just get creative.”

“Sensei,” he laughed. He started making the tea, thinking about it. Uncle Kuwabara was the most devious of his Uncles, that was true. Ogata-sensei already knew that, though, so what more could Oriya teach him?

No, he wouldn’t teach him anything. They’d just play beautiful Go. Go was beautiful. Go was distracting. He loved Go.


	11. Wednesday

Oriya threw down the paper. Still able to see the headline, he kicked it around. “You’d think I’m a virgin reserved for the emperor, the way he’s acting,” he muttered. He hadn’t asked for anything unreasonable, had he? To have a patron, like other geiko. Father probably wanted him to take a wife, but how could he marry when Ukyou was still, always, forever the only woman he loved? No, if he were to have a loveless affair, he’d have it with a man. He walked out of his room and went to Tami-san’s office. 

She frowned when she saw him. “Young Master?”

“Did you read that Councilman Tanaka committed suicide?”

“Yes. Such a shame; he always settled his bills on time, and he left good tips.”

Oriya chuckled. “Such a shame, indeed.” His smile fell slowly. He had almost liked Tanaka. “I’m tired, Tami-san. I need another vacation.”

“You just had one.”

“Yes, and it was exhausting. Please?”

“Forget it.” She took an envelope from her office. “This is for you.”

Seeing Muraki’s handwriting made him freeze. He opened it immediately, though. There was just a hotel card, and a time. “Thank you,” he said, going out and sitting under the cherry tree. 

It was still blooming. “If I leave the house, I’ll be even more vulnerable,” he whispered. There he had a fighting chance, if he managed to raise his weapon against Muraki. The house would protect him, he was certain of that. He was safe in his house. 

Safe, and scared. He hadn’t left the house in three days, afraid of meeting Muraki out in the street, afraid that Muraki would attack him, afraid that Muraki would play and use him like a doll. He sighed; he didn’t like being scared. 

He shifted so he could hug the trunk. “I’ll go meet him,” he told the tree, and the spirit of the house that resided in it. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scents of home: earth, grass, moss, wood. He rested against the body of the tree, feeling its solidity and its strength. 

“You are mine, and yet you blossom when he is around. Why?” he whispered to it. He’d always thought that the flowers were a manifestation of Muraki’s magic, but what if they were the evidence of his desire for Muraki? What if he, spiritually aware of Muraki’s arrival at Kyoto, caused the flowers to bloom with his own magic? Muraki brought spring in his heart and his body and his house. 

Ah, he was such an idiot, he sighed. Even though Muraki had hurt him, and had used him, he still tried to find excuses for accepting Muraki’s behavior, and imagined there was a bond between them. There was none; Muraki had used him and raped him, and he was an idiot. 

Oriya got up. He had to stop being scared of Muraki, break things up with him, and, if Muraki didn’t get it, then Oriya would destroy him. He wouldn’t be the first of Kokakurou’s enemies he’d ruined, nor the last. Yes, that was a good plan, and he’d follow it. 

&*&*

Muraki was seated in one of the sofas at the hotel lobby and looked at perfect ease in the Western environment. He looked perfect, if he were honest with himself. Muraki stood up to greet him, and Oriya remembered how fascinated he’d been by all the pale, thin creatures in Poe’s writings. His mind sought Muraki’s image even when his memories of Muraki were gone. 

Fascination. Fascinum. Fascinus. Oh, gods, it all made sense and yet it didn’t. He started laughing as he stood in front of Muraki. 

Muraki frowned. “What?” he finally asked. 

“Let me book us a room, Muraki, first.”

Muraki followed him to the reception. “You’re not mad at me anymore?” he asked, sounding young and full of hope. 

“Oh, I am furious with you, Muraki, and I will make a scene,” he told him softly. “Wouldn’t you rather I did it in private?” And what better way than this to get over his other fear of closed spaces together with his fear of Muraki than this? 

Muraki looked at him in surprise. “But, you agreed to meet me.”

He resisted the urge to punch him. “Do you have any available rooms?” he asked, turning away from Muraki and towards the receptionist. 

“Give me a moment, Sir, and I will check for you.”

“I am glad you agreed to meet me,” Muraki whispered. 

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted. 

“We have a….”

He handed the receptionist his card and ID. “Any room will do. I don’t care which one.” A few moments later she handed him a paper to sign and a key. “Thanks,” he said, taking it and heading straight for the elevator, fighting the urge to take the stairs instead. 

“Oriya,” Muraki started the moment the doors closed.

“Do you know the root of the English word ‘fascination’, Muraki?”

“No.”

“It’s from the Latin ‘fascinum’.”

“Ah.” Muraki smirked. “You know, I only know medical Latin. What does that mean?”

“It means ‘spell’, an evil spell, to be precise. But it also refers to the phallus, especially that of gods.”

Muraki looked at him even more curiously. “And?” 

He waited until they were in their room. It was a good sized room with a double bed and plenty of things that could be broken, if he so wished. “You cast a spell on me.”

“Yes, last week. So?”

“No, not last week. Twenty years ago.” He started laughing again, angry, so angry at Muraki. “You sealed it with your cock, you asshole.” 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Muraki sighed, sitting on one of the armchairs. 

Oriya sat on the edge of the bed. His anger was no more. His fear remained. Muraki was so much more powerful than him. Until a few days ago he’d never realized how imbalanced their relationship was, and he’d been such an idiot thinking they were… whatever it was they were. Yes, he should destroy Muraki and move on with his life. Oriya stared at him. Yes, he was still fascinated by him. Trapped, like a fly in a spider’s web, watching the spider and being unable to free himself. 

“Honestly, I don’t understand,” Muraki continued. “You kept on insisting that you didn’t need anything, so I showed you that you really didn’t need anything.” He smirked. “In fact, you should be thanking me.”

Oriya glared at him. A second later he threw one of the pillows at him. “Why?” 

Muraki let it hit him. “Because now you know that you don’t need anyone or anything.” His expression fell. “Not even me,” he whispered mournfully. “If you did, you wouldn’t bar me from your house.”

“I…” He bit his lips. He couldn’t reveal weakness to Muraki; the idiot couldn’t understand the concept. “I barred you because you are not the kind of customer I want for my establishment.”

Muraki stood up and sat next to him. “But I thought I was your friend.” 

Oriya moved away from him. “Yes, were.”

“Were?” Muraki blinked, even more surprised than before. He shifted until he was next to him again. “I’m not your friend anymore?” he said softly, confused. “Why?”

Oriya had had enough. He pushed Muraki away from him as he stood up so they wouldn’t touch anymore. “Because you raped me, you asshole.”

Muraki’s reaction was one he’d never seen before: Muraki paled, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “I… what?” he managed. “I… never… I.. no…” He slowly got on the bed, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I would never… not you.”

Oriya snorted. As if that would make it any better. Admittedly, though, Muraki’s reaction was a bit amusing. It made some of his anger leave him. 

Muraki swallowed. “But, you’re my friend. How can I rape you?”

His words made him even angrier than before. “How? You ask how?” he screamed. 

“Wow, you meant it about making a scene,” Muraki muttered with a smirk, clearly also having recovered from his surprise at Oriya’s accusation. “But, yes, how? We always have sex when we are together. What was different that time?”

“I wasn’t there for the sex, that’s what was different. My body was, but not me.”

“I don’t…”

“Muraki, I swear, if you say you don’t understand one more time, I will hit you.”

“But I don’t.”

Oriya punched him. 

“It’s true,” Muraki protested. “Explain it to me, please.”

“I wasn’t conscious when you had sex with me.”

“Yes,” he smiled. “I remember. You were wonderfully relaxed aro…”

Oriya punched him again. 

“But surely, when I kissed you in the car, you must have expected that we’d have sex afterwards.”

“Yes, but when you had sex with me, I could no longer tell you ‘yes’ or ‘no’. I may not have been in the mood to be fucked by you. I may have wanted you to just kiss me. And in any case, does it even matter what I may have wanted, when you decided that the only thing that mattered was your own pleasure?” He was suddenly tired, so he sat down on the floor. “Muraki, sex without consent is rape. Even when you start kissing, and your partner kisses you back, when they pass out it becomes rape if you continue. What’s so difficult to understand about that?”

Muraki frowned. “But you like it when we have sex. You’ve never said ‘no’.”

“You’ve never taken away my ability to say ‘no’ either,” he said, looking at Muraki. “And…” he cut himself off before telling Muraki that he hated feeling like one of his dolls. That he’d thought he was different. That their relationship was different. “Forget it, just forget it,” he sighed, covering his face with his hands, and trying to stop himself from crying with anger and frustration. 

There was a rustle, and then he felt Muraki settle next to him. “Is that the problem? That I used a spell on you?” Muraki started laughing. “How else could I get you to live without a yen in Tokyo?”

Oriya hit him, although it was a half-hearted hit with the back of his palm and he didn’t put any strength behind it. 

“Fine, fine, you’re annoyed with me. I get that. I shouldn’t have sex with you while you were unconscious. Better? Can you accept my apology and be my friend again?”

Oriya lowered his hands. Muraki was grinning like an amused kid. He glared at him. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

Muraki snorted. “You can do better.”

“Because I’m not your friend. I’m your toy, and I don’t want to play with you anymore.”

“Toys don’t have opinions,” Muraki smiled patiently.

“Well, I’m not your toy, and I have opinions. I should explain it better. You think I’m your toy, I disagree, and I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

Muraki stared at him. For the first time that evening he looked worried. “Oriya? What are you talking about? You’re not my toy, never were.” 

He hit Muraki again. “Don’t lie to me. I don’t appreciate it.”

Muraki raised his hand and took hold of his chin, making him stare at him. “I’m not lying.”

“You incapacitated me, raped me, and then put me in a very stressful situation for a whole week for your amusement. How is that not playing with me?”

“I had to distract you in order to incapacitate you, I had sex with you, kept an eye on you for a week so that nothing would happen to you, and then you learned that you need nothing and no one. How is that playing with you?”

He tried to move away from Muraki, but his hold was too strong. Oriya worried he was using his magic. “You’re doing it now as well. Let me go, Muraki.”

Muraki obeyed him. 

Oriya stood up, shaking his head. He didn’t have anything to say to Muraki anymore. 

“Oriya?” Muraki asked him softly as he was opening the door. “Do you really want me out of your life?”

Oriya opened the door and walked out. 

Did he really want Muraki out of his life? He didn’t know. Muraki had fascinated him, ensnared him, trapped him, caught him, destroyed him, and he still… No, he didn’t want Muraki in his life anymore. He was better off without him. 

On the way home, he stopped and bought that CD he’d heard while in Tokyo. The music still haunted him, and it made him ache. He suspected he’d find a piece there that would be suitable for the end of this chapter of his life. He didn’t want Muraki anymore. He wanted to be free. Free of passion, free of love, free of pain. 

He arrived home, cast a look at the blossoming tree and went to his room. He put the music on, lay down, and let it weave its own magic around him, soothing and relaxing and beautiful and haunting and…

What did Muraki mean that he was keeping an eye on him for a week so that nothing would happen to him?

Oriya sprang up, and went to get his phone. As he did, he saw petals fluttering in the wind. The branches were bare. The phone fell from his hand. Muraki was gone from his life.  
He didn’t want him gone. 

He wanted him. 

He wanted him. 

He stared at the cherry tree. He was an adult, with his own business, with his obligations, his duties. He had to get ready for the evening, join the staff for dinner, get an update on the parties expected that day, work on the accounts since he had no bookings that day. Instead, he lay down again, and listened to music. 

He was a man caught between Scylla and Harybdis for too long. He’d let himself be tossed between Ukyou, who saw him as nothing but a friend, and Muraki who saw him as nothing but a friend with benefits, and hadn’t realized how they were breaking him. He thought he was protecting and helping them, and instead they destroyed him. 

Yet, even if Ukyou never saw the love in his eyes, his life was better with her in it. She made him smile like no one else had. She made him hurt like no one else had. And even if Muraki saw him as nothing but a cat that clawed helplessly against someone bigger and more powerful than him, he’d gladly be that, if only Muraki played with him. He was pathetic, he was heartbroken, he was in love. 

He didn’t remember being so miserable even as a teenager, feeling the first pangs of love. Back then, love had made him turn to hedonism. He’d drunk and he’d fucked and he’d got into fights and he’d gambled and life was this cup that was full of the headiest wine. Now life was….

He turned the volume up, closed his eyes and stretched on the floor. His soul was crying out for love, even though his mind told him that was pointless. He should find himself a wife, like everyone expected him to, and make another person miserable, like Father had done, and then have miserable children he’d let someone else raise, like Father had done. That was the right thing.

But how his heart cried out in protest. He wanted his Scylla and his Charybdis, until they left nothing of him.


	12. Thursday

“The Young Master is ill again.”

“He hasn’t left his room since yesterday.”

“He hasn’t left his bed, you mean.”

“That was like when the Doctor vanished.”

“Only worse.”

Oriya sat up. “What day is it?” he shouted at the maids outside his room. 

“Ah… Thursday, Young Master.”

He threw the covers off him. “I’m going to Tokyo.” He could feel their surprise even behind the doors. “Tell Tami-san I’ll be back tonight or tomorrow.”

“Yes, Young Master. What happened to him?”

“Who knows? Let’s tell Tami-san before we get in trouble.”

He smiled. He wasn’t that scary a manager, was he? Tami-san was the scary one. He picked up the phone. “Ogata-sensei, I have to be in Tokyo today. Do you have time for a game?”

“Let me see what I can do, Oriya-san... Perhaps at three?”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“Meet you at Touya-sensei’s salon?”

“Yes, that would be great. Looking forward to playing against you.”

“Me too.”

He glanced outside, at the still bare branches of the cherry tree, at the still falling petals dancing in the breeze. Had Muraki cursed him when he’d asked him to shed a tear for him? It seemed like his eyes would never run out of tears for his sake. He was such a hopeless idiot. 

“What are you doing?” Tami-san opened the door to his room with a shout as he was changing. 

“Going to Tokyo.”

“I…” She looked at him. “What is that?” she asked, pointing at his chest.

“Oh, well….”

“Who would attack the Young Master?”

“No one important.”

Tami-san narrowed her eyes. “Is that why you banned the Doctor?”

“I’d like to allow him entrance from now on, if he ever comes back.” 

Tami-san shook her head. “Is he banned or not?”

“Not anymore.”

“Honestly, you are…” Impossible. She shook her head again. “Will you be back tomorrow, at least?”

“I have an important customer waiting for me?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” 

“Then, yes, I will be back. Don’t worry, if my business finishes early, I’ll even be back tonight.” Muraki found the spiritual energy of Tokyo invigorating, but he much preferred Kyoto’s. 

“Fine.”

He closed his eyes for a few moments when she left him alone. He was certain that since it had been Muraki who’d raped him, he’d be clean, but he still needed to pick up his   
results. What madness. Muraki had raped him, and he still burned for him. 

Love was the cruelest mistress of them all. 

&*&*

Shindou-sensei spotted him outside Touya-sensei’s salon. “Oriya-san, what are you doing here?”

He turned the music off, and took off his headphones. “Shindou-sensei. I came to see Ogata-sensei, but we are meeting at three, so I’m waiting for the time to pass.”

“You could have come inside,” Shindou-sensei smiled. “I’ve never seen anyone wearing a kimono and having headphones on.”

“But I can listen to my music better.” He grinned. “Want to see something even more shocking?” He turned the music on, and pressed the headphones close to Shindou-sensei’s ear. “I don’t even listen to Japanese music.”

“You don’t even listen to music,” Shindou-sensei laughed. “What is that?”

“Baroque polyphony.”

He shuddered. “Now, if you also tell me that you believe in ghosts I will have heard and seen everything.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Shindou-sensei stopped walking. “Really? You believe in ghosts?”

“Yes. They are pests.”

Shindou-sensei smiled fondly. “Yes, I can… Well,” he bit back whatever he was going to say. “Anyway, I will leave you here. I have a student coming to see me.” He shuddered and made a face.

“A bad student?”

“More like a depressing one. He looks like he’s in mourning. And he doesn’t even like Go. He wants to learn it only to impress his girlfriend.”

“Ah, the hardships of a Go professional,” he smirked. 

“You don’t say,” Shindou-sensei nodded. “And it gets worse. He was recommended by Ogata-sensei. I swear that Ogata-sensei did that just to annoy me.”

“I’m certain that Ogata-sensei would never do such an underhanded thing. He is a generous person who must have been thinking of your benefit.”

Shindou-sensei rolled his eyes upwards. “Whatever. Speaking of the devil.”

“Ogata-sensei.”

The man grinned at him. Then he showed him a packet of biscuit sticks. “Is that acceptable? They had run out of peach candy at the store.”

“Ah, luckily, I have some.” He showed the packet he was carrying. 

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“Adults are weird,” he heard Shindou-sensei mutter before they went to one of the smaller rooms. 

“Shindou-sensei is very unhappy with the student you passed on to him,” he grinned as he took his seat in front of the goban. 

Ogata-sensei shrugged. “That was one student I would never teach.”

“Oh, that sounds like an interesting story. Care to share?” He took a couple of white stones from the bowl that Ogata-sensei held. He was older than him by a few weeks, after all. 

“Well,” Ogata-sensei started, “he only wants to learn Go because he knows his lover likes it.”

“That doesn’t seem like a bad thing.”

“He’s also jealous. He threatened me once that he would kill me if I made a pass at his lover.”

Seriously? Some people were unbelievable. “And then he asked you to teach him Go? The nerve.”

Ogata-sensei nodded. “Yes, isn’t that crazy?” Well, maybe I should be more forthcoming, he thought. “Wait, it gets better.”

“Yes?”

“Apparently, he only started being jealous of his lover after they broke up, so my guess is that he thinks that he can seduce his lover back with his Go skills.” He snorted. “As if. It will take him three lifetimes before he can play Go with his lover.”

“You sound like you know him for a long time.”

“I do,” he sighed. “We’ve shared the same tailor for almost twenty years.”

Oriya stared at Ogata-sensei’s perfectly fitted white suit. “Don’t tell me he also likes white,” he whispered. 

Ogata-sensei nodded. “Oriya-san, I’ve known Muraki for a long time, and, as much as he annoys me, he’s the only person I met who can pull off wearing a white suit as well as I can. I appreciate that.”

“And?” 

“Can you tell him in a nice way that he will never be able to play Go against you and he should leave Hikaru-kun alone?”

How did Ogata-sensei know that he and Muraki had been lovers? Had Muraki told him that? “That’s all?” he smiled.

“I recommended Hikaru-kun to Muraki thinking that it would be a good source of income for him to have him as a student, but Muraki is impossible to teach. I am in a very difficult position.”

Oriya stood up. “And Muraki is here now?”

“Yes.”

“Then, if you don’t mind, can we postpone our game for a while? I would like to save Shindou-sensei from him sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, thank you,” Ogata-sensei sighed with relief as he stood up. He opened the door and led him outside another of the private rooms. 

Ichikawa-san nodded. 

“Ready?” he asked Oriya, and then knocked on the door. “Shindou-sensei, may I interrupt you for a moment?”

Shindou-sensei ran out of the room a second later. Oriya stepped inside. “Hello.”

Muraki looked at him in shock. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m teaching Ogata-sensei.”

“You? He’s not teaching you?” 

He shook his head. “Grandfather knew almost every Go champion in his day. I inherited his acquaintances, and acquired several good teachers in the process.” He sat down. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to understand you.”

“By learning Go?”

“It’s a game of strategy, right? I’m trying to understand your strategy.”

“There’s no strategy, Muraki. Not where you and I are concerned.”

“Then…”

“Muraki, you hurt me with your behavior,” he sighed. 

Muraki frowned. “But you can’t be hurt.”

Oriya punched his palm instead of Muraki. “Are you an idiot? Of course I can be hurt, and if my test results weren’t all negative I would totally ruin you, you asshole.”

“What tests?”

“You left me thinking I had been raped by a stranger. What was I supposed to do? Wait and see if I had some disease or other?”

“Oh.” Muraki frowned again. “Oh,” he finally said, understanding in his expression. “But I’m clean.”

“I know now. I didn’t know two weeks ago,” he snapped.

Muraki smiled at him. 

He couldn’t help smiling back. 

“Since we are discussing your health,” Muraki said earnestly, “my men reported that you were using the bathroom frequently. Did you have food poisoning? I would never have left you out like that, if I had known you were sick, you have to believe me.”

Oriya started laughing. Ah, that idiot. Though he wasn’t certain which one was the idiot between them. “No, I was fine physically.”

“Physically fine? Then?”

Muraki thought he couldn’t be hurt? What a joke. “You know I don’t like my work. All this has made me easily susceptible to stress.” Muraki kept staring. “I break out in hives when I’m stressed, and, after thinking I had been raped, every time someone touched me, I threw up.”

“People touched you?” Muraki asked with a fierce expression as if he wanted to find them and kill them all. 

He nodded. “And I couldn’t go to the police, because every time I considered the idea I had a splitting migraine that made me want to throw up.”

“Oh,” Muraki said quietly. “I only wanted you not to go to the police, because then you’d be back in Kyoto in two days max.”

Oriya closed his eyes and counted to ten. “You idiot,” he managed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said even more softly. “I really am.” He looked at him like a sad puppy. “You won one week with me. You can do whatever you want to me. I won’t defend myself no matter how much you beat me.”

“You are such an idiot,” he sighed. “Muraki, you know well that, if I had a week with you, beating you would be the last thing in my mind.”

“No?”

He sighed even more deeply. “When we made the bet, I was hoping to win because I’d like to have a week with you. With you. To be lazy, to stay in bed, to make love, listen to more opera while you talked over the arias and explained the plot.” An annoying habit, but one he'd enjoyed. 

“Now?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can stand being touched by you. You raped me, Muraki. I can’t forget that, even if I don’t remember what you did. And you used me. I’ve told you before, you can’t treat people like toys, and you certainly can’t treat me like one.”

“But you’re not a toy, not for me.”

“If I didn’t think of me as one, you wouldn’t have used a spell on me.”

“I only did it because I wanted to make your experience more… realistic.”

Oriya punched him. 

Muraki rubbed his cheek and smiled at him. “Oriya, if you were a toy, would I allow you to hit me?”

“Maybe you enjoy it,” he snorted.

“No, I assure you that I don’t,” he grinned. “I have several kinks, but sadism and masochism are not among them.” He winked at him. “In fact, I think that’s your thing. You like torturing yourself as much as you like hitting others, myself included.”

Oriya raised his fist and put it down a fraction of a second later, not wanting to give Muraki the satisfaction of saying he was right calling Oriya a sadist. 

“That’s what I meant,” Muraki smirked, regardless of Oriya’s attempt at self-control.

“You,” Oriya sighed, disgusted. 

Muraki stared at him. “How can I prove to you that you need not be scared of me?”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“If you weren’t, you wouldn’t mind being touched by me.” Muraki nodded. “It’s quite common in rape victims to be scared of touch afterwards.” He bowed his head a little. “I’m sorry I hurt you. That was not my intention.”

“What was it?”

“To win.” Muraki looked at him but Oriya felt he wasn’t seeing him. “I wanted you not to lie. You are so moral and yet,” Muraki’s gaze finally returned to him, “so rigid in doing your duty towards your House, that I was certain you must be lying to yourself. How can you balance your work with your moral code? It was infuriating. I…” Muraki’s voice trailed off and his gaze slid towards the goban. “Perhaps I did want to hurt you a little, made you realise that, despite what you say, you belong in the same murky world as I do. I wanted to crack your mask, and sully you. But I didn’t want to break you, or harm you. I wanted you to admit that you belong in the same gutter as me.”

Oriya took a deep breath. “Muraki, I was born in the gutter. There’s nothing to sully that hasn’t been tainted already. There is no balance between my morality and my work. My   
moral code is the only thing that keeps me from killing myself, and so I keep it, because my duty is to live for my House, and so live I must. That’s all.” He sighed. “If there is one thing, I would like you to get out of the gutter, Muraki. You don’t belong there.”

“The time for getting out has long passed, Oriya,” Muraki told him with a twisted smile that turned into a tiny smirk. 

Oriya looked at him sadly. 

“It doesn’t matter, does it? You won.”

“Not really. I longed for comfort. I wanted a roof over my head, and food, at least once a day, and cigarettes.” He sighed. “My whole body ached for a smoke.”

“That’s addiction, not admittance of defeat. As for the others, even mendicant monks eat once a day, and sleep under a shelter. No, you won.” 

“I didn’t manage on my own, though. I relied on the kindness of strangers. A lot. I was shameless in my asking,” he grinned. “I even played Go for cigarettes.”

“I call that resourcefulness. If you had the option to grow your own food, but you begged instead, then I would say you’d lost. Where would you do that in Tokyo? No, you won.”

“Even if I argue again that I lost, you’ll find some other counter-argument, won’t you?”

Muraki nodded with a smile. 

“Fine, then, I won.”

“And I am yours,” Muraki whispered, leaning towards him and caressing him gently on the cheek. “Do with me as you will.”

Oriya couldn’t move. Where Muraki’s fingers were, his skin burned. 

Muraki, still touching him, slid closer to him. “Dearest, darling, love, don’t reject me.”

It was so difficult to remember why he had been angry with Muraki when Muraki’s breath caressed his skin, when his voice slid seductively inside him, when his fingers still touched him. It was even more difficult when his body reacted to Muraki’s seduction, and wanted nothing but to surrender. It became impossible when Muraki slid even closer and kissed him lightly, just a press of lips on lips, undemanding, easy, comfortable. 

“Dearest,” Muraki whispered on his lips, and Oriya couldn’t remember anything anymore. 

He grabbed Muraki by the shoulders and pushed him down, fell over him pressing him on the floor with his whole body, and bit Muraki on the lips until Muraki opened his mouth for him. His taste was better than that of tea, better than sake, better than tobacco. 

He was damned, he was doomed, he was a man condemned to hell, yet this hell tasted so sweet. 

Muraki spread his legs open so that Oriya could settle in the cradle of his thighs, and rocked his body against him gently. Everything was sweet and easy, and Oriya had missed it so much. He reached for Muraki’s hands, pressed them down with their fingers entwined, and continued kissing Muraki. 

It was madness loving this man, but what a devouring madness it was. 

Muraki started pushing his groin against Oriya’s more insistently. Oriya felt him harden and lengthen under their clothes, a hot, pulsing, rising living creature with its own needs and desires. His mind told him that he should be disgusted, but his right hand left Muraki’s and reached between them, eager to play with and feel and explore. His body knew what he wanted, even when he was confused. He closed his eyes and trusted his body.

Love was the cruelest mistress of them all, but how sweet her torments, how desirable the chains she used. 

His fingers knew exactly how to open Muraki’s trousers, and how to slide inside his underwear. Muraki gasped inside his mouth, and Oriya drank his sigh, and sighed in response. His fingers closed around silky hardness, longing to touch, and stroke, and tease, and so they did. Muraki shuddered under him, and he pushed him down. 

No prey was ever devoured with greater eagerness, he was certain of it. His Charydbdis could do with him as he willed. 

He was hard himself, but Muraki’s pleasure fueled his own. He rubbed his cock against Muraki’s thigh as he kept stroking Muraki, and that was enough for the time being. Muraki’s cock pulsed crazily in his grip, Muraki let out another sigh and suddenly his fingers were coated with sticky, hot sperm. Oriya stuck his wet fingers inside his fundoshi and stroke himself. His orgasm was a white, hot wave, and he crashed into it, still kissing Muraki.

These sighs, these testaments of the agonies of love, how he wanted more of them. 

He rolled away from Muraki and found him staring at him. “What do you do to me?” Muraki sighed, looking at him in wonder. “A new lover is like an unopened treasure box,” he said, “that may be empty when you open it. An old lover is a proper treasure; you know what you’ll find and yet, you’re surprised at how much you desire it when you see it.”

Oriya smiled at him. He reached for his phone and his headphones. “Last week I discovered I like baroque music. Listen to this.” He put the headphones close to his ear. 

Muraki smiled as he listened. “Yes, a lover tried and true is a treasure that is never exhausted.” He spread his arm, offering his embrace. 

Oriya shifted until his head was resting on Muraki’s chest, and Muraki’s arm was under him. “I would like to learn Italian, but I don’t have the time. So, I was thinking, would you like to go to Italy with me? For a week?”

“A week?” 

He nodded.

“Maybe go to the opera too?”

He nodded. “I like the opera. I just prefer baroque. The more wounds you have, the more kisses you’ll receive. Sounds appropriate, don’t you think?” 

Muraki kissed him. “You cry for kisses, kisses, love, love. I will not be deaf again.”

“Promise?”

Muraki nodded. “I will teach you Italian, if you want.”

“And I can teach you Go.”

Muraki kissed him again. “Do you think Ogata knows what we were doing here all this time?” he smiled.

“No, I don’t think so.” He grinned. “I know he knows.”

“Eh?”

“I heard him open the door, and close it again a second later. We may not be able to come back here again. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“You quit being Shindou-sensei’s student and agree to being mine only.”

“Are you jealous of that child?” Muraki teased him. 

“No, but I don’t want you to learn from anyone else. I want to teach you properly.”

“And will you teach me Go only?”

“What else could I teach you?”

Muraki kissed him again. “Baci, baci, amore, amore,” he told him. 

Kisses, kisses, love, love. Yes, he could teach him that too. With pleasure. 

Muraki had fascinated him, and captured him, and tormented him, and destroyed him, and yet, for the chance to teach Muraki love, he would gladly suffer more. He was a hopeless idiot, but with Muraki near him, he was a happy idiot.


End file.
